We met on that familiar street,
at that familiar house,
where you told me with a knowing look
that it was all a dream.
I don’t know what brought me here,
but I knew the dim glow of the garage lights,
the weathered wooden table,
and the cracked cement.
Our eyes met in the summer dusk
as distant bomb bursts and flashing colors
populated the night sky far above,
leaving faded embers in their wake.
In a field
I am the absence
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.
We all have reasons
to keep things whole.
If my dream was true, then everything we know, everything we think we know is a lie.
…It means that we’re just dolls. We don’t have a clue what’s really going down, we just kid ourselves that we’re in control of our lives while a paper’s thickness away things that would drive us mad if we thought about them for too long play with us, and move us around from room to room, and put us away at night when they’re tired, or bored.
In my dream, I could have destroyed everybody in the world. In my dream, Gilbert wasn’t even a person; he was a place. In my dream, Grandma Unity gave up her life for me.
…I’ve been brooding on that night for too long now. Six months.
…”And then she woke up.” You know, I always hated stories that ended like that. I always felt cheated. Six months is long enough to feel sorry for yourself. Isn’t it? You can’t feel cheated forever.” —Rose Walker, from Neil Gaiman’s “The Sandman: The Doll’s House”