I Often Dream About You

I often dream about you. The kind of dreams that supersede nightmares. The kind of dreams that makes me want to go back to sleep in the case of my unwelcome awakening. The kind of dreams that make time lapse in an unnecessary high-speed that I had to hold on to my sheets while I sleep just to preserve the moment. Maybe, I miss those times when I hold my breath and so dream about you and me. I think it unnecessary to tell you what happened between us in my dreams. I’m scared to reveal how my deep seated subconscious still holds on to a fragment of your being here. The existence of the abysmal hollow in my chest holds you dear. You are still the fixed fist that tightens beneath my heart.  These dreams, you see, do not truly speak except at a distance. There is no flash not severed. They are powerful. Powerful that it vex me still despite my perpetual estrangement to your forgetting me. These dreams bring me images that never happened to us. Images I gathered, images that never happened. Most of it was absurd, and if not absurd, then appalling, especially for you. But how come that they bring me the most revered of delight and happiness. In real life, both of us understand that whatever we say we know there is another language under this one. You and me are always speaking between the lines.

Hidden from our eyes in an oblivion more or less prolonged. That is why the better part of our memory exists outside the two of us, in a blatter of rain, in the smell freshly cut grass or the gust of wind in the cold of night while riding a motorcycle. We happen upon what my mind, having no use for it, had rejected.  The last treasure that the past has in store which when all the flow of my tears seems to have dried at the source, can make me weep all over again.