8:12, a.m., EDT
sometimes dreams are a pale reflection of actual emotions. and sometimes it seems that life is the shadow and that everything imagined is just too powerful, too threatening, and somehow more real.
peeling paint, scuffed floors. dim lights still somehow too bright, empty lockers. a bed. a bed?
wild accusations flew. a young, serious man with dark hair was terribly embarrassed to overhear. a young woman named julia sat quietly, diplomatically.
i suppose someone had to be quiet and diplomatic.
it was unwise, unfair, humiliating to press this clash into the faces of onlookers. some moments need to be spent alone.
at 8:13 when i awoke, it was tempting to close the gap, however briefly. to reject boundaries of time and space and just listen for a moment. just recover that pale shadow of reality.
i ached for it.
but it would be unwise, unfair, humiliating.
and some moments need to be spent alone.