February 19, 2008
This life or the next
I dream of him and airports and antiques. Glossy tables in old libraries upon high hills, steep hills that our dreamland go-carts could not traverse. Libraries with butlers that “shhhhh” your giggles, long stretched windows to view those wonders that could not fit within these walls. Ancient swords and jackalope heads hung on the walls; magically woven rugs run the length of each hall. A tiny airport out of Casablanca meant only for parting lovers. This dream is a welcome break for images of a new corporate life, video tapes of every size and shape, stacks and rows of them have plagued my dreams for the last two weeks which were in turn the first two weeks of the rest of my life. Regardless I always cherish dreams filled with old romance and wet kisses. While I ponder him daily I have had to put my obsession with the future, our future to rest, because now I am a world away and lie in other arms, wonderful arms. And so I can only dream and rest assured that our tortured souls are not yet finished with each other and we will meet again in this vessel or another to torture and obsess for another lifetime.