Ancient mothers reconnect with me in the midst of my growth project and they are proud. A beautiful woman walks with me and I can see her insecurity, like a lame advertisement on a freeway billboard. The people in my life comfort me and rock me to sleep. A beautiful woman thinks highly of me and gives me compliments. I love my independence, but I never thought I could be so appreciated by such a beautiful woman. She is ice-cream on a rainy day. I’m swimming in hot lava and she is melting down to caress me. I am a slave to greedy power brokers, and she is massaging my shackle-sores. Young rebellion-bubbles destroy the landlord’s passive income generator. Russian youth fulfill Vodka stereotypes. And two insecure servants sift through the abandoned objects for treasures they can resurrect.
I remember all those times when you’d turn to look back at me from amongst the crowd of people that brought us together and kept us apart, to laugh at one of my stupid jokes. Your eyes would sometimes meet mine and my heart would then skip a beat. Sometimes they’d just travel the length of my face, looking for something. At those times, my lips would quiver a bit, be a little too self-conscious about the half smile they’d put on my face. My eyes, then, would look into yours while yours wandered over my awkward smile. My heart would start knocking hard at the wall of concrete emptiness that separated you from me, making my whole being quiver a little as it urged me to scream out to you. I’d die a little, knowing this moment would soon be over, knowing we’d continue to live as though this moment never happened. I’d die a little as we’d go back to being one of those people that brought us together and kept us apart, and nothing more.
The sweetness dissipates. There are druids in the train station, witches in the bus depot. There is enchantment luring away the gatekeepers of the sacred seminaries of our most sacred religion. There are wind tunnels with words that trap the clever minded and the movie-maker wannabes. (Nobody is guarding the streets. Nobody is watching the wisdom children.) With a sweep of a hand, the conductor shifts the tone. With the nod of his head, the admiral orders the troops. With the squint of her eye, the romance addict puffs up the narcissistic scholar, just to deflate him with her cold steel lance. The sweetness dissipates. The plates are on fire and there is no food in your pantry. And now the sweetness is gone, the tone has shifted, the troops go marching by.
I had a dream about you, one that made me feel so loved it was magic. I woke up that morning and you were there, your arm slung over my waist and I could hear you breathing. And for a short moment in my still sleepy haze I couldn't remember where our night had ended and where my dream began. I couldn't tell the difference between my fantasy and our reality. And in that moment I felt so loved and it was magic, just like my dream. So I drifted back to sleep, you breathing quietly next to me. And that's when I realized that you're dangerous. You're everywhere in my dreams and reality. So please, please, baby don't shatter me.