I see you in my dreams
Sometimes, there’s a green hill and I see you coming just over the peak. The frizz of your summer locks - a delightful little mess swaying just above your collar and brushing a feathery shadow across your face. I see the peak again, and its always you breaching its outline, growing larger with that toothy smile you never really learnt how to contain. If you’re happy, its never understated…
But other times you bear terrible news. One would never tell by the look on your face. The same news - over and over and I never fail to react, like it had never sunk in, like its never really news but a drama with the same invariable ending, or a tragedy. You always were a wholly different genre to me.
I wake up to the subaudible hum of whipper-snippers on half choke, from somewhere down the road. A car passes, a lonely outlier straying from the traffic. Its engine then rumbles to a sad halt. Its ribs crack under the pressure of the handbrake.
I start to miss you.
But when the morning sun cuts through the bedroom window, and gently rests its soft blades on the wall, I know its you. A little more contained. A little more understated.
