A Dream, a Note, and Dream Again

i'm sitting on the picnic table where we had our first real conversion. it's afternoon, near sunset, and everything is picturesque.

no, no.

no, not quite right. it's not picture-like, the scene seen through my dream, the "dreamscape", is nearly animated. it is perfect, but not quite real.

leaves are falling, slower than they would in real life, slower than i imagine would be possible in anything but in this dream. it's fall, and in my dream, it becomes dark super quickly.

too quickly.

it's dark now, early dark, and i look over the eastern horizon to see the yellow moon glowing behind the hazy autumn night.

harvest moon, i think in my dream.

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i remember that first conversation, that first night i really talked to you, and knew that i was meant to meet you. meant to learn from you, to be friends, to be.

we talked about everything that we seemed we could, and everything seemed without limitation.

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in my dream, i am sitting, watching.

watching maybe, the dreamscape is still night. still september.

and i hear your voice, you're quiet.

no, i think, just afraid.

but why? my dream-self thinks.

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again, a sudden shift and the moon turns red. the blood moon, and it is october.

i realize that i am holding something in my hands, a book. i know, in my dream, where everything is heading. i am still sitting on the bench where we had our first real conversation more than two years before.

i look down at the books cover, and in my dream, i smile. it is harry potter and the half blood prince.

i look back up, and i feel the smile vanish, and know why your not there, in my dream i do at least.

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**
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rockie,

this is not a creepy dream or anything. no awkwardness, not that i intentionally put out there at least. i think, by how i felt as i woke is that you were just gone. that we didn't talk, or something happened, or something.

not sure exactly what.

i think, honestly, i feel... well, i am not sure how i feel.

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**
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i have been working on a poem called "dream again" for the last seven or so years. monday night i finished it, and feel, finally, as if i can truly come up with new ideas writing now.

that even though all the whispering voices from the dead that come from underneath my bed are here to stay, maybe they are meant to be heard.

because, after all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

it is evolutions cruelest joke.

Used to Be We Knew Who We Were

it's weird when you hear that someone you have not seen, but were once close to, had been thinking of you. i get this e-mail , and it says, "i've been thinking of you. thinking of those stupid pictures we used to draw in physics.".

that is literally the entirety of the message. 16 words, 21 syllables.

at first, i was happy that someone had been thinking of me for no reason, then, i started to think about physics and how i felt about this person at the time we were "drawing those stupid pictures". i don't remember what they were of, because most of the time i was analyzing everything everything about devynne. i don't know why, i don't know why it mattered.

still don't, not really.

i tend to try to read people, and usually i am pretty good with it. i can read moods pretty well, lies and truth, anger, happiness.

maybe i shouldn't, but it's in my head that i need to. some compulsion (excessive?), a need, to understand how people are the way they are. i waste time doing this though. waste time thinking of why someone said this, or wrote this, or laughed at this joke, or smiled at me this way, or had a tone of anger in their voice, or kissed this way, hugged that way...

see what i mean?

thoughts, too much thinking kills me.

so here i am sitting on this computer for the first time in what feels like months, spilling out my soul, my thought-process, into the empty space of the internet.

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i miss people i still talk to.

contradictory, no? i mean, how could i miss someone i talk to on a  more or less regular basis?

i just do though, it feels like jennifer all over again... where i am losing touch with people for no reason, people i love, and i feel it's me at fault in some way.

it isn't me blaming myself, just how i feel.

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i used to know what it meant for me to be in love, and i am not going say i don't still know.

i guess that would be a lie. it's just that my definition of love is no longer the same, not since three months ago.

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i am just rambling. i guess i am just trying to say that i am not okay.

not okay.

Speed of Sound

Yesterdays how quick they change all lost and long gone now.
Want to remember anything moving at the speed of sound.
With the speed of sound.

And yet im still holding tight
To this dream of distant light
And yet somehow ill survive
But this night has been a long one
Waiting on a sun
Just don’t come

Can I forgive what I cannot forget
and live a lie?
I could give him one more try

Why deny this drive inside just looking for some peace
Everytime I get me some it gets the best of me
Not much left to see

And yet im still holding tight
To this dream of distant light
And that somehow ill somehow survive
But this night has been a long one
Waiting on a word
That never comes

The whisper in the dark
Is that you or just my thoughts?
Im wide awake and reaching out

Its gone so quiet now
Could it be I’m farther out
Moving faster than the speed of sound

Silence

is better than the sound that our voices make.
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i'm not overanalysing.

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you keep saying that is what i am doing, and it is not what i am doing.

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i'm sorry for saying anything.


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this whole blog makes it seem that i am pissed. i'm not.

i just shouldn't have opened my mouth.

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history repeats, so many fucking coincidences were defined by fucked up circumstance.

and i'm fucking done with this bullshit.

with my bullshit.

with trying to understand when i can't.

it's a trap. a soundproofed room where i can't hear myself fucking think no matter how quiet it gets.

or scream so someone hears in all the roaring voices.

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i'm not overanalyzing, if you only knew what that would mean.

you don't. hell, i don't.

i do love you rockie.

really do.

i don't want you to be alone. i don't mean to make you feel bitter.

but, believe me, my loneliness is different than what you know.

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so, once again, through the silence...

...i'm sorry.