Dreams Like This
2003-09-26 - 7:43 a.m.

Dreams like this only happen once in a while.

There you are, radiant, positively glowing. The light seems to pale in comparison to your face, each individual ray outshone by the light in your eyes. Standing beneath the apple trees in the orchard where we met, where we shared the fruit of the labors of someone else, you are like an angel.

None of this is true, of course. The reality is that I haven’t seen you in fifteen years, and the last time we spoke, the words were harsh and cold, and your face seemed darker than night itself. You wanted me to forget you, and to forget your face, and I have been trying every day since to do as you wished.

Right now, you are walking toward me, your arms outstretched. I long to fall back into them, to begin again the descent that was halted in mid-fall in the ancient past. Your high cheekbones enhance the sunlight. Your dark, flowing hair puts the nearby stream to shame. Your scent makes the very flowers seem unpleasant.

Your hand slapped my face, and I pulled away to soften the blow. Sometimes, I can still feel it, my cheek burning like fire while your words cut like swords. I was “Too young”, “too stupid”, too this, too that. You said I wasn’t smart enough, that I wasn’t strong enough, that I didn’t care enough. I hated you for it, but I loved you too much to care.

I stretch out my arms to circle your body, and I feel your warmth against me again. Your lips meet mine. You taste sweeter than the apples.

Last time I tried to call you was a month after you left. I didn’t even get past hello. You always were petty.

You are all I think about.

When I woke up, you were on my mind.