May 14, 2019
My dreams lately: bougainvilleas, marzipans, an oversized jacket, past loves, violence, anger, fog. I wake up sad, lost, and without intention. When I open my door, often, you are ambling up the stairs. Upon reaching the landing, you'll see me at my doorway, frozen, about-to-cry. "I don't know if I can face today," I say. Feeble. Hair sticking out. You pat my head, my shoulder. Silent. Kind face. You point at the bathroom. "Start there." Water. Wake up. Feel. Is this still a dream? I wake up a second time, or is it the third? It never ends.