You In My Dream

Not sure where I was coming from

but where I was,

outside I was watching you.

Walking around the perimeter,

you saw me but pretended not to.

I could see that you were crying.

Sitting beside the bed, covering your head

with only your eyes peeking through. Quickly

though, you hid them away.

I came around to the door, still,

with an unspeakable distance to cross

the almost empty room. It was like a vacuum.

The walls, still bare,

curled in on themselves

a wave of unending repetition.

Their curves leaving no steady place for anything

leaving oneself pushed into the center.

The scattered empty windows left you open

the entire room available to the outside.

A chilly light came in teasing me cruelly.

Never for a moment letting me forget

the surrounding emptiness.

!Why were you crying?

If it was me, why

when I finally managed to cross the room,

you let me in to hold and console you?

All at once, I realized.

It wasn’t your sadness

but mine, given to you,

so I could be there.

I was the architect.

You were the vessel,

empty like a mannequin

and I shaped that pose,

putting your arms over your head,

putting the tears inside

only to watch them steam down your face.

You cry because I cannot.

I have no reason, no sadness.

Only the futility

of waving my arms in the air

touching nothing but space.

Your tears,

your sadness

were mine for me to enter.

I held and consoled you,

but it was all for myself.

How unfair it is of me.

Your eyes shine, still new

and yet I rub them out

into something worn and tired.

How unfair is my own disposition

imposed upon you.

It’s my sentence.