She sits behind the wheel next to me: a familiar situation, but a different person. We're stopped at a red light, when she unexpectedly presses her head demurely against my shoulder. It falls in place ever so perfectly. Her gesture speaks volumes; suddenly, the gray area isn't so ambiguous. There is hope, a nostalgic feeling severely missed. I surreptitiously wonder if we're holding up traffic.
The image fades.It's a different life, a different time, and the day of reckoning has come. I'm on trial for treason, for not second-guessing orders during a crisis where only historians possess the luxury of hindsight. My lover watches from hiding, eyes closed and far from present, but taking in the proceedings all the same. She knows that had I not sent her away, she'd be facing execution as well. Dying together with one's soulmate seems a morbidly romantic notion until faced with it; then, it's just morbid. Better me than her, I think: the dead feel no loss.
The image fades.It's early morning and dawn begins to break up the darkness. I'm sitting on my bed, her silhouette across from me. Worry has not marred her pretty face, ever graceful and serene, as if she was savoring just another moment among many with me -- as if she wasn't really leaving. She isn't happy, just more accepting of our lack of
yuan fen. I know not why, but I'm convinced that if my eyes close for even a moment she will disappear into the ether. I focus on her face, but exhaustion becomes me and the air crumples, fading to black.
Focus, damnit.I awake as the new sun greets the day. For a moment, I can swear her sweet, comforting perfume still lingers in the air, but she is gone. I need a moment to collect myself, to tell myself it was only a dream. The only reality is the pang of unquenchable loss that remains. ::
She takes you in with her crying eyes
Then all at once you have to say goodbye
Wondering could you stay my love?
Will you wake up by my side?
No, she can't
'Cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone gone...
-- Dreaming With A Broken Heart // John Mayer
I realize that my dreams are not random, but the product of my fears. I say I crave quality companionship, but when a door opens I often find my maladaptive self slamming it shut. The truth hurts: I am afraid that when I find my 黃蓉 to walk by my side, she'll disappoint in some way as so many tend to. It seems almost better to allow such an idealistic hope to remain as just that, forever unshattered, untainted, because everything eventually breaks under exacting scrutiny.
Truly yours,
.taintedwine
Comments (3)
wow! beautifully written! i agree that dreams are the product of our fears....and of course how you feel that day.
thanks for saying hello! i hope you have been doing well.
the first few paragraphs seem as though they're part of a novel or play. really well written!