Dreams

Dreams.

So fleeting. So sly.

One minute you’re  in a room-terrace-platform looking at the grey sky. The next, you walk out and meet a little boy coming up the stairs.

He is younger than you remember. Or maybe not. You don’t know his face. Yet, you do know him. You tell him not to go up there. He is not supposed to go there.

He doesn’t really listen to you. But you insist. You’re outside and standing with him.

You recognize this place too. You’ve been here so many times before.

And with this recognition comes another: you’re dreaming.

But how can you be so sure?

You haven’t pinched yourself. Nor do you think about pinching yourself; you’re that sure.

Also , you don’t want to wake up.

And you’re sure because you’ve been here before. So many times. But back then, last time you were here, this was part of another dream.

You stand still.

All the familiar landmarks are there. The dark green grass. That smell. Those lavatories in the background. The almost-hidden staircase leading to those well-known rooms. Those brick walls.

It’s all how it used to be. It’s not at all how it used to be.

All you can remember are the things you are seeing. Eyes close; deep breathe…oh! the things you remember! Everything…

You’re actually lying on your bed. Not quite but almost flat on your stomach. Mouth hanging open but no wet cold sticky feeling against your cheek. White powdery dryness at the  corner of your lips. One arm is tucked under you, dead; the other ignored.

You’re standing in that garden like place, trying to place that smell. But now you can’t see those lavatories or those rooms. You wonder where that boy you know so well went. That other building is back. You stand there remembering all of it.

All of it. Every place, every face, every itch, every scar…every nano-second. The rainbow intersects the dark cloud and your pot of gold is the only consolation is that nothing can hurt you at this moment. You’re as safe as you can possibly be.

This is why you don’t want to wake up even though a tiny part of your brain is trying to tell  you it won’t work.

The other part stuffs the tiny one into the trunk you keep for these purposes and walk on to see what is next up in line for you to remember. Whatever it is.

Dreams.

So fleeting. So sly.

And sometimes, the only thing you have to hold on to.

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