I'm moving right now, so I've been going through old papers to toss what I can and semi-organize what I cannot toss. A few minutes ago I came across a dream I had written down 10 years ago. I think it says a lot about where I was emotionally at the time. Enjoy...or whatever.
I am in San Francisco--or perhaps it's Seattle. I only know it's very hilly, very urban, very...California. I'm searching for him. Searching so very hard--but with my eyes only--I can't move. I feel as though I have been searching forever. My heart now beats in sync with the gentle lapping of the ocean below. I've been here for a thousand lifetimes--rooted to this spot, endlessly, fruitlessly searching.
Finally I see him coming up the hill toward me from the marina. In the distance I can still see the tiny island a mile or two offshore. I can see nothing but green hillside, lush and undisturbed by human hands. Somehow, though, I know people live there. No one I know knows anyone from there. Those from the island do not speak to me--and I can no more speak to them than I can anyone else. No islander sees me, yet I see the island always. He just came from the island. I know it, though I did not see it. He belongs to me, I know, and I've always belonged to him.
But that island, that island doesn't feel like home.
I am standing at the crest of a steep hill, rooted to the sidewalk of a business/shopping district. Today it's overcast and misty, a definite chill is in the air. The locals and tourists alike move quickly to accomplish their business with a minimum of dampness. Unsurprisingly, the sun is shining brightly, almost with a heavenly glow, on that damnable island.
I hate it.
It hates me.
And, of course, the sun is shining gloriously on him. It has no choice. It is as if his very existence commands it. He's wearing sandals, khaki cargo shorts and a pale blue dress shirt--and shades, the only person on the hillside in the sunlight wearing the only set of shades. And, damn he looks good. His dark, luxurious hair bouncing lightly with each step. Oh--those legs--those powerful, tanned, hair-dusted legs I love so much--flex so sexily with each long stride he takes toward me.
Toward me.
Contentment floods every cell of my being. At long last, he's coming home to me. Carefully, I watch his ascent up the hill. With each of his graceful strides, my breathing becomes more difficult--in a wonderfully delicious way.
Finally! Finally he has arrived before me, at the crest of this formerly lonely hill. Finally, I, too, am allowed to bask in the warm sunshine that follows him everywhere. For the first time, I notice he's older than I remember--which means I am, too; I know it. The years look good on him--they've done nothing but further intensify his unmatched sexiness. I want him more now than I ever have before--yet I am paralyzed, unable to move, to touch him as I so long to do.
He begins to speak and the sweet melody of his voice washes over me, envelops me as would the sea behind him, the sea he so recently crossed. I cannot understand his words, but I am not alarmed. I simply allow the sound of his voice to fill me up. I close my eyes and allow this feeling to fully penetrate my being. I feel whole--rejuvenated from the inside out--for the first time in what seems like centuries--since I last saw him.
Instantly I feel his flash of anger. Panicked--I have displeased him!--I slam my eyes open to see him making quick work back down the hill! Suddenly I am able to move. I run swiftly down the hill, desperate to catch him. He turns right onto a connecting street and I race to follow, slowly--ever so slowly--closing the distance between us.
He darts into a furniture store--furniture store? why?--and I'm finally able to catch him. Entering the store, I realize I am dripping wet from the drizzle outside while he is still perfectly dry. Why does nothing affect him? I grab his arm with a wet hand and he swings around to face me, his beautiful face full of query, devoid of recognition.
FLASH!
We're standing on the dock next to his vessel. I've never seen it before, yet I know it is his. Perhaps because it is so sparklingly white? I hear my own voice, distant and disembodied. "So this is the end?" it says. No! my mind screams. Please say no! "Are you going to throw away what we have together just like that?"
His smile holds a little condescension and a lot of pity. "I just can't deal with it right now," he says. What does that mean? my mind screams. Don't you love me? What is there to deal with?
"You can't do this again, Cole." My voice again. "If you fuck it up this time, there won't be another." I see him understand this bit of information, actually watch his eyes seem to process it.
Then he nods. He seems to accept that I mean it right now. "This is my decision," he says, as if that's the final word.
Infuriated, I turn to walk away and hear him call out to me. I turn back and he says, "Can I ask you just one favor?"
"Fine," I say. "Ask." How odd, I think, realizing that the ever-present sunshine has finally failed him. He's wet now, like the rest of us.
"Can I spend the night with you? I can't get back to the island in this." He gestures toward the land I wish would sink like Atlantis and I suddenly see that the sea is covered in an impenetrably thick blanket of cold white fog.
ZOOM!
Suddenly my mind's eye flies through the cool, wet clouds of fog until I break free of them a few yards off the still sun-drenched island. Swiftly, I swoop toward the lush green landscape. There I see an Adonis eagerly awaiting the return of his lover--my lover. As he notices my airborne approach, a sneering grin moves across his lips and he gives a triumphant wave.
ZOOM!
I'm back staring at Cole. The thought crosses my mind to tell him yes--to take him home and reclaim what was mine simply to spite the Adonis. However, even as my breaking heart slowly crumbles to dust within my chest, I know what I must do.
Wordlessly, I turn from my love and begin the long trek back to the crest of the hill and the remains of my life. Cole's cries grow ever more faint in the background until all I hear is the gentle lapping of the sea....
I am in San Francisco--or perhaps it's Seattle. I only know it's very hilly, very urban, very...California. I'm searching for him. Searching so very hard--but with my eyes only--I can't move. I feel as though I have been searching forever. My heart now beats in sync with the gentle lapping of the ocean below. I've been here for a thousand lifetimes--rooted to this spot, endlessly, fruitlessly searching.
Finally I see him coming up the hill toward me from the marina. In the distance I can still see the tiny island a mile or two offshore. I can see nothing but green hillside, lush and undisturbed by human hands. Somehow, though, I know people live there. No one I know knows anyone from there. Those from the island do not speak to me--and I can no more speak to them than I can anyone else. No islander sees me, yet I see the island always. He just came from the island. I know it, though I did not see it. He belongs to me, I know, and I've always belonged to him.
But that island, that island doesn't feel like home.
I am standing at the crest of a steep hill, rooted to the sidewalk of a business/shopping district. Today it's overcast and misty, a definite chill is in the air. The locals and tourists alike move quickly to accomplish their business with a minimum of dampness. Unsurprisingly, the sun is shining brightly, almost with a heavenly glow, on that damnable island.
I hate it.
It hates me.
And, of course, the sun is shining gloriously on him. It has no choice. It is as if his very existence commands it. He's wearing sandals, khaki cargo shorts and a pale blue dress shirt--and shades, the only person on the hillside in the sunlight wearing the only set of shades. And, damn he looks good. His dark, luxurious hair bouncing lightly with each step. Oh--those legs--those powerful, tanned, hair-dusted legs I love so much--flex so sexily with each long stride he takes toward me.
Toward me.
Contentment floods every cell of my being. At long last, he's coming home to me. Carefully, I watch his ascent up the hill. With each of his graceful strides, my breathing becomes more difficult--in a wonderfully delicious way.
Finally! Finally he has arrived before me, at the crest of this formerly lonely hill. Finally, I, too, am allowed to bask in the warm sunshine that follows him everywhere. For the first time, I notice he's older than I remember--which means I am, too; I know it. The years look good on him--they've done nothing but further intensify his unmatched sexiness. I want him more now than I ever have before--yet I am paralyzed, unable to move, to touch him as I so long to do.
He begins to speak and the sweet melody of his voice washes over me, envelops me as would the sea behind him, the sea he so recently crossed. I cannot understand his words, but I am not alarmed. I simply allow the sound of his voice to fill me up. I close my eyes and allow this feeling to fully penetrate my being. I feel whole--rejuvenated from the inside out--for the first time in what seems like centuries--since I last saw him.
Instantly I feel his flash of anger. Panicked--I have displeased him!--I slam my eyes open to see him making quick work back down the hill! Suddenly I am able to move. I run swiftly down the hill, desperate to catch him. He turns right onto a connecting street and I race to follow, slowly--ever so slowly--closing the distance between us.
He darts into a furniture store--furniture store? why?--and I'm finally able to catch him. Entering the store, I realize I am dripping wet from the drizzle outside while he is still perfectly dry. Why does nothing affect him? I grab his arm with a wet hand and he swings around to face me, his beautiful face full of query, devoid of recognition.
FLASH!
We're standing on the dock next to his vessel. I've never seen it before, yet I know it is his. Perhaps because it is so sparklingly white? I hear my own voice, distant and disembodied. "So this is the end?" it says. No! my mind screams. Please say no! "Are you going to throw away what we have together just like that?"
His smile holds a little condescension and a lot of pity. "I just can't deal with it right now," he says. What does that mean? my mind screams. Don't you love me? What is there to deal with?
"You can't do this again, Cole." My voice again. "If you fuck it up this time, there won't be another." I see him understand this bit of information, actually watch his eyes seem to process it.
Then he nods. He seems to accept that I mean it right now. "This is my decision," he says, as if that's the final word.
Infuriated, I turn to walk away and hear him call out to me. I turn back and he says, "Can I ask you just one favor?"
"Fine," I say. "Ask." How odd, I think, realizing that the ever-present sunshine has finally failed him. He's wet now, like the rest of us.
"Can I spend the night with you? I can't get back to the island in this." He gestures toward the land I wish would sink like Atlantis and I suddenly see that the sea is covered in an impenetrably thick blanket of cold white fog.
ZOOM!
Suddenly my mind's eye flies through the cool, wet clouds of fog until I break free of them a few yards off the still sun-drenched island. Swiftly, I swoop toward the lush green landscape. There I see an Adonis eagerly awaiting the return of his lover--my lover. As he notices my airborne approach, a sneering grin moves across his lips and he gives a triumphant wave.
ZOOM!
I'm back staring at Cole. The thought crosses my mind to tell him yes--to take him home and reclaim what was mine simply to spite the Adonis. However, even as my breaking heart slowly crumbles to dust within my chest, I know what I must do.
Wordlessly, I turn from my love and begin the long trek back to the crest of the hill and the remains of my life. Cole's cries grow ever more faint in the background until all I hear is the gentle lapping of the sea....