A dream I think I once had

She smoked a cigarette beside me

in the passenger seat of my car

in the dark, in the park one night

a lifetime ago.

 

She said: “We are born,

we do stuff

& then we die.

That’s all…

 

I wish I could, but

I just can’t make myself care

that much anymore…”

 

Spectral blue curls billowed out

from between the clumsy teeth inside

of that beautiful mouth,

& attempted to dance with those lengths

of false-coloured hair she absently caressed.

 

She had an affinity for dysfunction,

she told me:

“I thrive among the broken things”

 

& I remember thinking

that it was fucked-up

how much I wished I was more fucked-up

than I already was.

 

I wanted too much;

 

I wanted her love.

 

Nothing else seemed important,

not the the future, not improvement,

not hope

or the vast tracts of free & unfettered time

that lay before us.

 

Eventually,

I drove her home.

Nothing much had happened

yet somehow it still felt significant.

 

After she had left me, as

I sat staring into the darkness,

the smell of smoke & her presence

lingered

 

& I was overcome

by sensation so intense,

all that has followed since

feels like dull disappointment…

 

(This story is fiction, only the stories that composed it are true)

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One thought on “A dream I think I once had

  1. Pingback: “That’s how we deal with boys like me” | words for ghosts

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