I dream a lot these days… of places here… and not seldom
I had one last night. You and I were alone. We were baking cookies.
You were patting flour on the dough and I was laughing at the bit that had escaped onto your nose. Together, we smothered the fresh baked cookies in a thick layer of surgery white icing. The radio is playing Sinatra. You surprise me, pulling me into a dance and we twirl through the house…
We pass a window, and I see my reflection. Then it becomes me. I’m outside the window, on my heels in a shrub, looking in. My tear streaked face watches you and some unknown female…Baking cookies, laughing, twirling. My eyes flutter, close, and then the image dims into my mind. The insides of my eyelids seem to glare at me in darkness. I open my eyes, all is soft, silent.
It’s strange how life seems to fade with age… like colored paper in the sun. The days stack up and compress, the best ones brighter… the torn ones adjusting the stack.
You remain the only one I can write about, truly. Meanwhile I flit around with the jealous, the overly zealous. Terminal distractions. Any stray thoughts of you still manage to bring my stomach to knots. I have a strange satisfaction though. Dreams remind me, even as I wake, that love is never lost. And even if it remains in the unconscious, with a few bumps, it fills the heart. I enjoy my life, much more, without that strange intensity… I refuse to live in my dreams, but they nudge me into the relief that I will find you in someone else.
Every time you make cookies, they tend to taste a bit different…