The Glass Room

Almost thirty-something and can't say what I'm chasing in this life. There are re-occurring dreams that I have which may indicate that this is just a transition stage of a developing existence from before. Scientific fact, according to them that call themselves they, you don't dream of something you haven't seen in real life before. But I vividly dream of being in a house I have never before seen in my life. There's a long corridor branched with bedrooms, not unusual no but this corridor ends with a master bedroom with a peculiar glass room in the centre of it. Not so much a wardrobe, all random and weird things are kept in it. It's messy and cluttered. As if in spite, the overflowing items contradict the see through glass. There are carpet floors only in the master bedroom, making it both warmer and confusingly displaced to the other bedrooms. On the opposite side of the house is a kitchen, nothing fancy and an adjoining sunken lounge. The lounge is strikingly smart but outdated. I can see a kitchen backdoor I have escaped many nightmares from... into hidden passageways but that is a different story. I hear people chatter in this kitchen lounge area of the house but I am alone and wander away down the corridor, curious. I always end up sleeping in the first bedroom furthest from the master. It has twin beds, leaving one bed unnecessarily taxing on my conscious in the orderly moonlight. Shining through the modernest white blinds which illuminate both the empty bed and the conventional wooden floors. The duvet is stiff and cold. I hear doors open and close and then I'm asleep and the house is dissolved into another dream. 

Other times I find myself walking around the peculiar glass room within the master bedroom which leads to four steps down into the actual wardrobe and bathroom area. The roof is low, a secret for those that dare. Again in another dream, it is here in the walk-in wardrobe that I can vividly see myself younger playing with my friends. With sleeping bags and toys, speaking of boys and dreams, ensuingly rebellious and blacking out from too much alcohol.  Like I had lived my whole childhood in this house but slept in the guest twin bedroom every night.   Most strange is the door leading outside from the wardrobe. Who would even design that? But there it is and I open it every now and then. Finding myself on a white and blue tiled entrainment area with an Olympic sized pool as blue as every association with the Greek colour. That rich, blue and yet just cool enough to still be inviting colour. I feel this overwhelming emotion that the white tiles were scrubbed intentionally to hide an atrocity. Never do I take more than a couple steps before I retreat not wanting to be apart of it. The invite turns into more of an impending allurement. Fallen leaves from the perfectly landscaped redwing dogwood hugging the discriminatingly exclusive high walls are blown around relentlessly. In that moment of the dream I stand white knuckled hand still holding the door handle, squinting my eyes to see how this part of the house, for some time, hasn't been celebrated except to keep the pool immaculate and the tiles errorless. Like an outsider with enough inside knowledge to know that this house is not my home, I go back. This is the part of the dream that I search for that kitchen lounge chatter. Searching for new information. It automatically turns to night at this point, I don't know why. Perhaps it is only in the night that we seek what we are longing for? Giving light to atrocities or truth versions of ourselves that eventually appear. 

The goal of any dream is to survive right? Never do you actually die... normally it consists of snippets of a parallel universe where you did the "right" thing. So you're there saving yourself with nothing but an intrinsic gut feeling and the hope that the dream either evolves or stops. Which in my almost thirty-something life believes and grips onto the hope that it will, evolve and we discover that I'm not as dislocated as my night re-incarnations. Curiosity for that singular hand to hold bringing sense to 'whatever this all means' when I wake up. Knot your fingers into mine.

This is

An end

But this is not

The end

- L.E Bowman

You can't

Is not a prediction

It is

A challenge

- L.E Bowman

_________________________

it was Us
there was I
And There Was You
entities too big to fuse into THIS world
but we had our own
Always with each other
never to be real

_________________________


The bully that cares is Resilience
one's own kindness to move on when it hurts most
in the yard of despair that needs a king
both a fighter
and a saviour
pushed from internal intentions unknown to the victim
survival until the force
the bounce
and the probability that the world will be a playground again

_________________________


You're a beautiful mind of maps
when my heart is gravitational pull

with my utopian sense of North
your compass swirls off track

So we get off at the next stop.

_________________________


my fingers in your hair
your arm heavy on my stomach
reached to hold the other side of me
my leg latched on yours
as we float higher than the net above
your soft lips against my heart
and I feel as fragile as your small lashes
that may not keep this dream safe
at that moment you wake
pulling me closer as I squeeze back
compelled by passion seconds away
but in those seconds I feel strength
and love and something of a lifetime

_________________________


if we crossed paths again
could you hold my gaze
without trembling restrain
speak of nowadays
and feel okay with the fated
while your eyes animated
precipitate a Cheshire smile
my feeling of infallible reconcile

_________________________


It's funny how the thing that destroyed us
will ultimately rebirth us
Like there really isn't a line or a
countdown
But rather a block of each consecutive
day making us safer from each other
As they get filled and ticked off
it happens with every cry turned laughter,
every moment we are not together but
distracted
Making it funny because we laughed on
the break up call. Already then we longed
to be that distraction for each other.

_________________________


Remembering the childlike tenacity that in
spite of balance, reached for the hand
dearest to it
How obscure it is to be an adult when the
carousel stopped turning

_________________________


Losing my fucking mind
Add a song
Send an email
Don't like an Insta
That's BASICally approving
this daily funeral of lost hearts
DO SOMETHING else that means more

_________________________


I feel all the things
how you're dealing with two break-ups
not just ours but the One before
the one I distracted you from

_________________________


We had everything but perfection
which doesn't exist
so we just had everything

_________________________


if
something
terrible should
ever happen to you
no one immediate
would let me know
they'd not think to, why

_________________________


Seen every driver that isn't you today
It's going to be like this forever isn't it?
Please get a new car I DON'T know about...

_________________________


The very worst of this 
Is that you're supposed to be my person
Supposed to, in terms of you are
Where truth is not as scary
and marked skin is shown well below
the surface
Touched and held as if it were your own

_________________________


What's in a water
You
What's in a whisky shot
You
All in my blood, racing towards my heart
in competition against a reality
I want to escape to but beat defeat from

_________________________


It's still too soon to break the silence
for a battle within me rages
Between talking to my once friend
And now gone lover
Scared that I'd softly scream for them to 
be one of the same again.

_________________________