Recurring

It's recurring. One week ago, I dreamt that we were in our familiar settings. Where cedar is high and morning light leaves shadows as long as my face. I couldn't remember the dream until three days later. Or more importantly, I couldn't remember who you were. The only thing I could remember was that feeling. I felt ancient, terminate and raw. And now, now that I finally saw your face in the constant replay (rewind, play, rewind, play, rewind, play) I realize I don't remember you at all, because we don't know each other. You are that peripheral man-boy who can assure himself, comfort himself, love himself because there is no other. We acquaint and you board a plane back home.

If you only knew the brushfire in truth when you trail through your life, ignition of hearts when you walk through people's lives. Arsonist ad-hominem. You exist before the light. Retrospectively, you're the misfortunate puppet of my psyche. Cast down on strings to deliver the morse-code message from my brain to my heart to my heart to my brain. This is not about you, you give us this day, our daily intellect. I will cling white-knuckled and tense shouldered to your truth. And by dream, you were knee-bent, open arms professing love. "I will love you, give you security! I take you at face-value. I know you've faults. You are so valuable. But I need you to need me." And in a rather maladroit moment, I offer a clumsy dodge to your vow. With simplicity, I reply, "Hm. Really? Well, that's weird." I suppose you should know, I've searched for a decade for what you gave me in a dream. And in a swift and cagey move, I circumvented what would have integrated my heart and mind. But if we were in front of each other, male faces, beards and eyes like razors our exchange would leave us in arms, tears. I knew your first impression and I will know your last. Consummate, infinite and raw.

Eyes open, wide-awake, in mourning. It's a dream. Time stops. I have no idea who you are. I know what you have to offer. I refuse. It's everything I want and I refuse. It's then, I feel peace. Comfort and peace. The most volatile, temperamental, violent peace. In my reaction, I feel peace. You give me everything I asked for.
It underwhelms me.

And now I lay down to sleep, in pitch-dark, recurring. With this on repeat in my mind, I smile.

Wreckless

I think, maybe now,
it's all been unfair
to you.
I expected a lot
and perhaps
in our friendship
agreement (oftherelack)
I skipped the section
detailing that you
can still call me
when you need
something
(elsethanme).
Because,
You.
Can't.

Admittedly,
I was still proud
glad humble fragile
dark yet refined
and it is gratifying
to help you
(handinhanddownstepssmiling)
into your own slightest,
out in the slightest.