growth
there is someone sitting on the edge of my bed,
her hands are cracked and dry,
the clothes she wears hangs to her frail body,
she turns to me,
and with a gripping sense of fear i realise
that woman is me.
she smiles and reaches out her hand.
i hesitate.
i don’t want to hold her hand but strangely i do not want to hurt her feelings.
i take her hand.
she smiles brighter.
“you gave up.”
what?
she wasn’t using her mouth to speak to me,
her voice rang in my mind like the shrillness of an alarm,
her voice that sounded just like mine but...different?
“you gave up. you stopped fighting. i am an embodiment of your dreams. you stopped dreaming.”
she doesn’t sound angry. just tired.
i stared at the woman ... who was me? but wasn’t me.
“don’t be afraid. you still have time to stop this.”
why was she tired?
tired of me? perhaps?
“how.” i croaked “how can i stop- start dreaming again?”
she laughed. it sounded like grating glass.
“you grow. and allow your dreams to grow with you.”
she cupped my face with her hands.
i could feel the cracks in her skin.
and then she was gone.
floating in the air was a single green feather.
that night i dreamt.
i dreamt of growing old
in my dreams i had a family
a wife, children, a community of support.
in my dreams i was happy.
and when i woke, i could feel the coolness of my wet cheeks.
there is someone sitting on the edge of my bed.
her hands are smooth and slender
her clothes fit comfortably across her broad body,
she turns to me,
and smiles.
