*Three Months Later*
I now find myself replacing my sadness with hobbies. “Ooooooooo, good book,” I’ll say, and force myself to binge read and enjoy pages and pages of content that may or may not be entertaining to me.
And so you know I dream of you…
So simply, just dreams, and in them we do things together. I look at your face as we exit the highway. Your right lid sticks as you roll your eyes. I see you stand melancholy as you peer in the fridge. You reach out for my hand as we walk on the gravel. I watch your brow as you squint and aim your toss as we play washers. Your tapered fingers tell stories as you sit on your soapbox. I walk up your driveway as you swing bags into the bed of your truck. You snort and scratch your beard playfully on my face. I wake up to the light and see you asleep, yet smiling. In there I linger because you love me… So simply we are friends.
Somehow you’ve resurfaced, you’ve dodged the letters and numbers and trips to Half Price Books and you’ve shown up there. You’re the DreamWorks boy looking down. A fishing rod in one hand, sitting in the clouds of my mind… And I’m waiting for you in the poofs… And still I love you, and somehow long ago you’ve admitted to feel the same about the both of us, both yourself and me. No questions, we aren’t demurely wandering anymore, your timid restraint is gone, it’s a regular day.
Then comes my neighbors’ slammed door, their keys jingle. Step, step, step, step, vibrating down the railing. My visions dissipate, a hazy fog rips them away, held captive for an instant until my rouse forgets your presence. I lay on the right of my bed, roll my chin to see its empty left side. The sheets lay cold goggling me with sad eyes. I look at the dark blades of the fan in my ceiling, womp, womp, womp. A meek effort to feel complete, I replace the scene with the blades of yours.
Get up and get in the shower, get ready for your day girl. Get up!
Those aren’t memories, those are dreams.