I woke up this morning early. I dreamed about him for hours and hours it seemed like. Unfinished business we never paid attention to...like we painted over peeling wallpaper.
It seems too important to me now, to make sure that things are straight. I don't know why all of a sudden last night's dream made me want to do the unthinkable. Why did something I made up in my head make me think that it was real? It's never been real the other hundred times I've dreamed it. It's never come true.
Every time I dream about him I wonder if he had the same dream, at the same time. I wonder if somehow his wishes for how things were or how they could have been somehow bled a hundred miles over the night air into my mind, into my conscience...and how we act in my dream is how we don't have the courage to act in real life. Very frightening these ideas are to us.
In the dream we sit at a table in a cafe, where you smoke cigarettes and I watch you take each drag. We are trying to talk about things, but we have so much to talk about it's like a backed up artery or a waterhose with a knot in it. Life can be so unfair.
So we leave this place and part ways, knowing full well that we will have to keep torturing each other until we take away the wall that divides us. Beyond that...go forward, go backward: at least it will be going.
In those few moments where we do get to be proximal, I wonder if I can just look into his face and he already knows. Since our dreams coincide and our lives cross over and over and over. Or maybe he thinks I can read his mind, and see what he sees. But I can't. And I don't. I wish I knew why I didn't.
