based on a dream.

‘watch your step.’

she makes no effort to mask the parental advisory in her tone, and it’s annoying. i wish she had a little more faith in me by now. her dwindling gaze warn’s that everything here, down to sight, is fragile to the touch. the treasures opening within are to be observed, not held. the minute you try to possess one as your own, it simply turns to scattered ash, recursively flitting into smaller fragments of itself, until eventually it’s completely hidden from plain sight, again. returned to hide behind another dimension you’re temporarily unaware of. this cosmic game of hide and seek a pair of lovers play have promised themselves to for an eternity.

her voice crawls through the sprawling pillars, both bouncing off and bond the things her voice passes. her lips never once splitting.

“touch me, i will allow it. if you choose to, i will let you penetrate my many surfaces, but know before you do, this is your last warning– you’re touching all of me. you are choosing to be with me, as i am. not have me, as you want. i am not your choice. i will crumble before i allow you to tape me to a shell you’ve sculpted for me to die in. i will not always be pretty, at times i will be an incendiary dragon.

i am not to be tamed. i am as wild as the hearts wants. if you try to rule me, i will reduce myself to ruins. but if you are bold enough to stand by me– i will allow you to do so as my equal, and treat you as such. i will love you the same as i love myself, no more, and no less.

but be aware, i am more than the body of treasure you press to your chest, more than a diamond your eyes scan to admire a lack of flaws, i am more than the shine of time you watch while you touch your fingers to my wrist, feeling my pulse, absorbing my glow.

i am an infinite idea of something that eventually conquers all things, at my best i am love, and will fill you with weightlessness. i will release you from gravity. however, i am not always my best. can you accept that? can you surrender your self, to be with me?”

each of our memories are connecting, reflecting; constructing an infinite mirror that extends far beyond my basic comprehension of reality. it breathes in all directions. an entire universe of experience dancing in endless lights. each moment we’ve ever shared is its own living painting in an ethereal museum of constant motion.

i see that others have been in here, lurked through the shadows with their masks strapped so tight that they themselves remain unaware they’re still pretending. they graffiti given names they’ve never questions over our classic, untitled, pieces. their unoriginal, uninspired, ode’s to self preservation, desperate proclamation’s of existence, serving only to collect attention they’re inherently undeserving of.

they only recreate crudely, unable to bring authentic progression into empty space.

i ask her why she let them in… she laughs.

“me? …you. you stupid boy. it’s you. it’s always you. the one who runs from his own reflection every time he see’s it’s scars.”

she points. i look over and see a memory move. it’s not complicated, it’s just a look she gives me, that turns me to puddy. then the reel transforms the moment, but not entirely, just barely, the scene is relatively the same, except now it’s another woman’s face, the woman replicates the look she had melted me with, and i fall for it. i’m not really there, but i’m content to pretend all the same. i know the moment. i don’t want to look any longer, so i turn back to her.

“i see… so you let them in, because i let them in?”

“no… you have it wrong. they slip in every time you let me out. they are doubts. when you seek to expand outside of my atmosphere the air of our love becomes poisoned.”

she points at an ice statue, it’s a solid construction of her, tears frozen to her face. this memory doesn’t unfold, it’s stuck in that moment. too painful to play out. she then pulls me back by my shoulder, directing my attention to her eyes.

“it will melt. don’t worry. they’re impermanent. never truly in. just erasable pains that cruden the edges of our reality until it’s harder to look at, and sometimes i don’t want to look at it. can you understand that?”

i nod softly as she continues.

“their work is temporal, time will chew away at its instantly tarnished existence until eventually it’s completely gone. if you stop setting fires, letting plastic people in; that will melt in your mouth, if only gas you– you will always have the halls walls to yourself.”

i nod again. i could try to defend myself, but she’s right. i’ve always let these oily figures talk slick, trying to dance around their mud, only to slip on the slime, time and time again.

“give me your eyes. there’s something you need to see.”

i give her my complete attention as she raise’s a hand up like it’s holding an invisible key, and points one down in the same manner, then shifts them in a 180 degree motion like the keys are turning both sides of a lock no one else can see. all the memories turn to tiny pastel dots that rush past like streaking lines, until they’re this silvering white wonder wall. then they stop again, the walls spreading back into pictures. this time all rearranged differently. none of them familiar.

as i begin to make out the images, fear sets in. nothing here has ever happened, but it’s everything i’ve ever wanted. i’m becoming scared… are these lost dreams?

she walks around the room while strangers bide for attention, some to drop a compliment at her door, others to ask her sincere questions ranging from inspiration to technique. everyone is there for her, she laughs a little like she always does. never too much. i’m happy to be a fly on the wall tonight. they’re all watching her, some explaining their own take on her works, some bold enough to make their best attempt at proving they understand the functionality of her process. she’s unconcerned either way, and just happy in her own space. she makes because she’s made to, not for validation. probably the underlying reason why they’re all wondering how she does it. she turns down the champagne flutes every time a tray passes, and when she’s fulfilled her duties to the attendees, we leave early. i ask her how she thought it went. she tells me to shut up, and kisses me in the back seat. “it’s your turn” she tells me. pushing me back into the leather, pulling my shirt out of my pants while she throws a leg around my hip. when she looks at me i know she’s still taking pictures, then she closes her eyes, and lets every end of her body capture the experience like a million bulbs flashing in sequence. she’s become free. i feel her passion, and it makes me feel like i could be a photo. captured in still, forever lasting.

then we’re in the middle of a village, children kicking a peeling soccer ball around a dusty corridor. she’s explaining to a young boy that the oil she’s rubbing in his cut is natural, made from leaves of a nearby tree. he’s familiar with the tree, and its healing properties. her familiarity with the habitat bring’s great ease to his anxiety. i’m not sure how long she’s known spanish, i’m not positive where we are, but the people here seem to trust us. two girls are pulling at my shirt, the boys are cheating again. i look over and see the boys smirking behind the community building. we go chase after them together.

i’m in a suit, with no shoes. this is our wedding night, it’s nothing like i thought it would be. the air has no personality on this day, it’s muted. completely still as if it too is in attendance for the event. all energies seem to be meeting perfectly in the middle, the sun is blaring, but not hot, or blinding. it compliments everything it touches. tucking its ego for a more empathetic approach today. water ruffles gently around the edges of the two cliffs the bridge we’re centered on is connected to. all the colors of nature are glowing in such a potent way. everyone is there. i want to see her say the words, but i’ll wait.

i hear a cry. there she is. giving birth, while i hold her hand. she stares deeply into my eyes, she’s in pain, but she’s there. she’s ready to push a life we both made into the world. from the looks of things, she’s keeping me from crying, and not the other way around. i can’t believe the strength women possess to lend their entire being over to bridging another life into a world with little more than the hope of a better future to come. we turned down the ultrasound. i don’t look at the childs sex, or eyes, i want to be surprised. i hear the cries as it’s placed in my arms, when my lids raise, all i see is light.

i hesitate… scared to pull the trigger on the lingering question.

“are these the moments that will never happen?”

she looks back at me, and laughs.

“you really are the dumbest smart person i know. do you not see yet? these are the moments that always will exist. that have to exist for there to be life. these are the moments that will make sure you never fail to come back. they will have many variations, but these are the constants that make up our universe. we will always have them, they’re the lights of hope that pull us out of the darkest oceans. these are the constellation to make sure, you will always make it back to shore. the reminders that will help you find me. the true me. every time. that will remind you to know me as you knew me, and never try to make a new me. you will always fail trying to make me your version of myself. until you accept again. that it’s not in your control. i am not your creation. i am not your art. you don’t create my image, you’re merely the museum of memories that holds my many faces. the same way i do yours, safe inside my walls.”

i see now, down to the base of all her creation. not the reactive volcanic eruptions that give her surface, or the heavy wind shifts that destroyed houses others tried to leave on her land, but the endless glowing love that would carry a perfect life for 9 months in a womb, and an equal pairing through eternity.

my eyes open.

i am awake again.

( based on a dream. )


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