Post-dream Blues

by Richard Mcallister

I stared at the bus, but no face was visible. I knew it was there, behind the tinted panes, a one way mirror.

I imagined I could see those eyes, those atlas spheres of green and blue, the map of your mind projecting wonder onto mine.

I felt like Gatsby looking out across the bay, but I can’t see the green light. All I have is a memory now.

Where we parted there lies a scar, not on my skin but on my soul, it feels adrift, ripped in two. I want it back.

My world is now Monochrome, colour emanating only from those things that remind me of our time, a book, a smell, a laugh.

Now I wait, tracing the map of your skin in my mind, a map that is all at once so hard to read and yet I never err from the path.

It was a dream, turned into a nightmare when I awoke, to find you gone. 

 

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