The Chicka Sisterhood

{March 29, 2008}   What comes of dreams

Dreams can be my worst enemy.

An inmeasurable happiness in the strangest of circumstances, falling yet landing so peacefully…

An impatient waking, every inch of my concious self pleading to drift back. It’s never the same though, each moment after that my dream is marred with nervous fingers, silent prayers to just let me stay.

Waking, finally, after the threads of sleep have unraveled, when my mind and body are brought back to actual time. I am short of breath somehow, always when I wake… as if I’ve been chasing my dream as darkness moves in.

I lie in bed with a cigarette hanging over an empty Coke can, headache beginning between my eyelids. And I can’t stand the thought of sentimental happiness and the way my heart goes all a flutter even in the most dire circumstances.

I dream of him. And though he may be in the peripheral of even my dreaming vision, and though I may be hiding behind each brick and alley way, just watching, when I wake I am sobered. The waning connection pounds through my blood, and I realize-

my dreams with him are happier than any real life I have ever owned.

I  regret leaving him. And I’ll never forget stepping on the plane, tears streaming down my flushed face, and the stewardess asking “are you sure you want to go, miss?” Half mocking, half concerned. I looked up, eyes steady though cold, and said “I’ve never been more sure of anything”. I fell to the ground then, contents spilling from every bag, and I crawled every inch to that airplane leaving coins and reciepts and my final note from him behind

“gone to the store, buying you wine. let’s get schnaukered and watch kung fu”


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