Saturday, March 10, 2018

One hundred and Sixty Two


I am lost.  This is what my dreams are telling me, have always been telling me.

I now know why I’m still alive.  It’s because in my dreams, and only in my dreams, she’s still alive.  But I can never find her, return to her.  The dream ends when I accept that I’ll never see her again.

I’ve dreamed these dreams only since she died.  My dreams were different when she was alive.

First came the train dream.  I’m on a train, the manuscript of my book in my pocket, on my way to meet with my publisher.  She’s sitting opposite me.

We talk.  We flirt.  The train pulls into a station and she gets up to leave.  It’s not my station, but I get up and follow her.

The train pulls out, leaving us alone on the platform.  The empty land, Eliot’s wasteland, stretches to the horizon.

She’s uncomfortable to be alone with me, someone she just met; but when I get her car started she smiles, thanks me and invites me to her house.  And then the nightmare begins.

I can’t save her.  I can’t save anyone in that house, or anywhere else, because I too am lost.

When I was young(er) my road seemed laid out like railroad tracks.  All I had to do was follow them.  At first I resented her for distracting me from following that road.  But I chose to follow her.  And I was right.  But now I'm alone.  

It's too late now to forget your smile
The way we kissed when we'd danced a while
Too late now to imagine myself without you.
 

How could I ever close the door
And go on just as I was before?
It's too late now. 

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