Birds

Words are like birds.

Some are beautiful.

Some are dull.

Some are captivating.

Some annoy the hell out of you.

Some taste good in your mouth.

Some terrorize you.

All serve a purpose.

Where We Go When We Dream

Do you ever have recurring places when you dream?

It’s like a recurring dream, but instead of a situation, you return to a place.

And the place is unknown; strange but, familiar.

And the situations that take you to those places are similar to things that have happened when awake, but slightly different.

And the places - and the things they entail - perturb you in those first few moments when you break out of slumber.

Like it was too real or important to forget.

But you do forget.

But when things start to get blurry, and you panic a bit, trying to recall what happened and why it was so important,

You start to think that maybe the reason it felt so familiar, yet strange, is because it was  real.

Now, hear me out.

Could it be that those times that we visit the strange, familiar places, with strange, familiar people, we’re just visiting another dimension?

That eerie feeling you get from those dreams that stick with you like a splinter throughout the day, could those possibly be memories of another life? 

A strange, but familiar life.

That could explain why it’s so difficult to wake up from those kinds of dreams.

I imagine it can’t be easy crossing between dimensions.

But then I fully wake up and write these thoughts off.

I’ve been watching too much science fiction.

November 14

I remember that day.

I remember the cold air and the dark sky.

I remember the bright lights for the rehearsal.

I remember the way she pulled me outside.

I remember hearing the fear in her voice on the phone.

I remember thinking I lost you without getting the chance to apologize.

I remember the wave of relief, followed by guilt, followed by sadness.

I remember sliding down the wall onto the floor.

I remember her arms around me.

I remember telling them I hadn’t heard anything.

I remember imagining the blood and glass and snow.

I remember the snow.

I remember the big, fluffy flakes that seemed too beautiful for this night.

I remember the air hurting my lungs.

I remember the panic of trying to reach you.

I remember reaching her by chance.

I remember how happy she was that day.

I remember telling her she needed to call you right away.

I remember the tears of sorrow,  knowing her bright day would be marred forever.

I remember you telling me that she kept screaming.

I remember hearing that you were okay, but knowing you were far from it.

I remember all the ringing and all of the voices trying to figure out what was happening.

I remember his anger at you.

I remember picturing him alone in the field, unleashing his rage upon the dead crops.

I remember her telling me that it was bad and that I should pray.

I remember you going to stay with him as you watched his lips turn blue.

I remember the tremors in your voice.

I remember trying to say something reassuring, but I think it came off as insensitive.

I remember sympathetic pats on the back and awkward exits, not knowing what to do or say.

I remember the grilled cheese sandwich.

I remember the knots in my stomach.

I remember the strange peace when I fell asleep.

I remember waking up to a call confirming he was gone.