The thing
about dreams is they never star at the beginning- there is never a back story.
Your subconscious always lands you right in the middle of the plot.
I am
standing on the sidewalk of a dark street, facing the opposite side and down,
as if waiting for something to come down the road. There are buildings lining
the street but they are empty and dark. There are no stars and no light comes
from the moon. The street lamps fill the street with their eerie yellow light.
I am naked, but not in a sexual way. I am vulnerable, raw, exposed; like an
open sore. It is cold and I feel the wind raise bumps across my bare chest and
legs. I shiver. I see someone approaching on the other side of the street. It
is someone I love. I only call their name but really I am calling for them to save
me. To cover me, the heal me, to take away my vulnerability and fear. I call
again, but to my surprise, they keep walking. I call a third time and they grimace, I know they hears me, but their eyes stay forward, completely ignoring my
voice. My voice raises is pitch and panic as I keep yelling. Don't they know
that I need them? That I am begging them to come and wrap me up and save me from
all the feelings inside of me? Soon I am screaming but to no avail, they are gone.
Like a light
switch in my head, I am transformed. I am empty. With vacant eyes I pick up the
threadbare blanket that is at my feet. I slowly wrap it around my yellow,
quivering body and curl up on the black asphalt. The cold from the ground seeps
through my covering and lodges itself in my bones and in the empty space in my
chest. It is as if some invisible hand has come and scooped out my insides from
my toes to the tips of my fingers. I am a shell. I feel nothing but the cold
and that is only because my body is racked with shivers. My vacant eyes stare
out into the dark street as the silence envelops me.
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