|
By Laurel Ahlfeld Date: 2009 Feb 05 Comment on this Work [[2009.02.05.02.39.6849]] |
| I dreamed of you last night and the night before that as well. The first time was unnervingly pleasant. You held me. I curled up in the nook between your shoulders and your knees, and you never let go. We fit perfectly together, just as we always did. The dream never went anywhere. You just kept holding onto me. No words spoken. Only the two of us existing together. I woke, shaken. I have been trying not to think of you, trying to carve out my own path, trying not to care that your silence is hissing lies in my ear. And then you come to me in sleep when I cannot defend myself, when I cannot tell you not to hold me with the same arms that touch her, when I cannot tell you the deepest cut is your dishonestly. I never asked you to love me forever, or to be faithful, or even to spend the rest of your life with me. I only asked for your honesty, and in return I've received silence instead of lies. I can build walls up around me all day long, but they always crumble as night falls. I am left helpless in the rubble. I let you hold me. I let you be all the things I need you to be in the daytime. I cannot keep you out at night. But last night was different. Last night I had moved on. I had married a man who was good to me, but I did not love. I had written to you about the kind man, because I knew you would see through it. I knew you would rescue me from myself and give me the man I love. I waited for you to arrive. I pinned my hair up the way you always begged me to. I wore the red dress you once tore off in a fit of passion. I stood nervously searching through a sea of faces for your familiar eyes. There were no soft, blue eyes anywhere. There was no sad smile coming to meet with mine. The crowd thinned. A letter was handed to me. You would never hold me or any other woman again. You did not survive the journey. I woke with a greater understanding this morning. You would always love me, but you would never arrive. |