My Fire

I once had a dream about a man singing in my front yard. He was tall with long hair and wore a tux perfectly. I didn’t have my glasses on and I couldn’t make out his face, but the crows brought us together at my warren to make an offer. This dream haunts me even though it’s been years since it happened. Maybe 16 years. Maybe 17 years. I can’t remember. In my dream the morning was perfect and the smell of orange blossoms and night blooming jasmine – the smell of Riverside in the morning; the smell of my home – hung heavy in the air. I felt strong. I felt powerful. 

Stronger than I’d ever felt – even to this day. This was me in my full power. He is my equal.

He ruined everything and I hope I did the same for him.

Occasionally I see him and he thinks I can’t. Truth be told I try with all of my will not to react. Reacting is too painful for me. To see something I can’t touch.

But we’d be happy.

We would be pain.

We wouldn’t be alone anymore.

I feel like I made someone up just to really hurt myself. (good song)

The things I’d lay waste to just to talk to him. Apologize even if he doesn’t except it.

I find myself missing this fictional man when happy or successful and always when I’m cold. He lives on the fringes of my mind and out of the corner of my eye.

Where he’ll stay until the day that I die.

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