Initially, it looks like a big, white house. There are plush white loveseats, plain, white ceilings, white floors colliding with white walls.
Everything looks wrapped in Sunday linen. Surprisingly, the place smells of adobo and cotton candy.
Then, the house transforms into a white room. It is strange how I am not bothered by the alarming brightness.I am sitting on a white stool, talking to my mother, who is lying on a bed. Her body is wrapped in a white comforter. Her mouth is curled up in a distinct moue, like a person who is experiencing much pain. She covers her face with her pale, weak hands.
I look out a French window and there you are, seated in one of the makeshift chairs we used to have out on the porch in our real house. You seem to be waiting for someone.
It would probably displease you- the fact that I have been dreaming of you for three straight days now. Do not get me wrong. This is not some sort of astral appeasement nor is it a sudden but unreliable rush of affection.It's just one of the things that are.
Maybe these are your dreams. You see me peering at you through doors, French windows, glass panels. You do not know why I am even there.
This is the way we wander in and out of each other's lives,as furtive as ghosts that refuse to be kept in closed lids.
Unlike many of my dreams where characters are faceless, you are not. Strange how I know you, how I watch you wait, when I have never seen you before.
Everything looks wrapped in Sunday linen. Surprisingly, the place smells of adobo and cotton candy.
Then, the house transforms into a white room. It is strange how I am not bothered by the alarming brightness.I am sitting on a white stool, talking to my mother, who is lying on a bed. Her body is wrapped in a white comforter. Her mouth is curled up in a distinct moue, like a person who is experiencing much pain. She covers her face with her pale, weak hands.
I look out a French window and there you are, seated in one of the makeshift chairs we used to have out on the porch in our real house. You seem to be waiting for someone.
It would probably displease you- the fact that I have been dreaming of you for three straight days now. Do not get me wrong. This is not some sort of astral appeasement nor is it a sudden but unreliable rush of affection.It's just one of the things that are.
Maybe these are your dreams. You see me peering at you through doors, French windows, glass panels. You do not know why I am even there.
This is the way we wander in and out of each other's lives,as furtive as ghosts that refuse to be kept in closed lids.
Unlike many of my dreams where characters are faceless, you are not. Strange how I know you, how I watch you wait, when I have never seen you before.
No comments:
Post a Comment