Monday 2 July 2018

Just a dream, dream, dream

This morning, the violence faced by the trees outside, even though fleeting, was enough to cause a ruckus that penetrated through the dimension of my on-going dream.

Only the heavy droplets remain to slide down the roof, and the tenacious leaves the storm failed to intimidate. It is quite rare that the birds should awake at this hour, so early in the morning. But perhaps these feathered creatures also have a reason to celebrate the end of a downpour on a Monday morning.

To all of those who were spared further tribulations in the sea of their unconscious mind, aren't we glad that we don't have to confront the truth anymore? What little revelations that might have come before the storm, already resonating with the chord coated in rust, sends the soft vibrations of feelings purposely unacknowledged to disturb the peaceful present that we have forged through a dozen lies and late nights stained with tears.

It wasn't all that unpleasant, to see you in an unbuttoned shirt leaning against the rocks. With the dark clouds overhead, you were the only being who still beamed with a warmth known once only to me. I think I was touched by your kindness, and sorry for my lack of it.

All has returned to the calm before the rain. The crickets have started to sing again. Basking in the ochre glow of my fairy lights, I will pull the lid over my eyes.

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