A Letter to a Recurring Dream Figure
To my Beloved,
I know you’re well. You came to me last night. A different dress and shoes, but it was certainly you. That face, so gentle and soft came into view on an ordinary night by a café we never visited. I wonder why you didn’t wait for me to speak. Is it possible you already knew what I would say? Your cigarette got lost in the darkness and you lit the night with your ivory shoes. You kissed my cheek and winked. It was an impeccable rendition of a false memory. This is how you want me to remember you. Basked in ideal contours. Edgy. Superb molding from your feet to your slender neck.
But alas, my dear, you forgot the order of affairs. When we met I wasn’t ready for you. When I was, you wanted me for yourself, alone, in a room without a door.
You were sweet and honest. You epitomized desire. I shook in my heels at the thought of seeing you every day. It was my Newtonian shyness that kept us apart for so long. After prolonged exposure to your ways, every moment made of steel and polish, the shyness raged and morphed into something monstrous.
Rejection. Despair. An involuntary pushing and shoving with utterances and feats that deemed my soul irrevocably damaged. After Mexico, you called and I preserved your voice on a machine. A lovely, reliable machine. I listened every day until the fear subsided and courage pedaled through my bones.
You recollected your dreams during those lonely walks on Friday nights. I gave you mine in return. We were untouchable.
The music, the scent of your perfume, the uncanny moments of knowing one another too well left me unhinged and unable to express myself. You are my inamorata. My haunted subconscious. Infinite sadness. Imprinted guilt. Transformed into a lesion spreading across my chest and stomach. A ceaseless battle between my sense of self and my brain. I want to remember you as you were: a solar eclipse, shade, a canopy of lies. My mind wants to remember you as the sun, the moon, the stars, existence and its natural elements.
Maybe you shouldn’t come by anymore. We’ve talked about this. We’ve agreed. Now I need you to reason with my mind. I don’t want to live in limbo anymore. I chose the real world, the one where you don’t want to know me. The one where you wouldn’t stop to say hello. The one where I can’t cut myself. The place I can’t imagine.
As of now, it’s between you and my mind. I relinquish my power. Don’t speak to me. Speak to the whole of my being. I think you’ll find I’m not the type to rehearse the past.