Still The One

Twenty-Nine

Last night I dreamt
That somebody loved me
No hope, no harm
Just another false alarm
– The Smiths

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Twenty-Nine
Now – June 23, 2018

Dreaming was involuntary; an uncontrolled, compulsory force.

I was moving aimlessly on a beach. And it was cold – far colder than the midsummer crack of dawn it looked to be. Colder than anything I have ever felt. I could see each goose bump and pale hair risen on my arms.

It was recognizable, where I was. Coruscating, lilac water weaved beside the boardwalk. The rides lay waste on the esplanade, dead and barren. The anew sky was approaching. The incalescence of the sunbeams should have warmed me. But I remained cold.

There was a figure, alone, like myself. The body floated by the shore like me. I couldn't tell who it was, and I couldn't control my unsteady legs, roaming towards the stranger. The silhouette was enlarging.

From a proximate stand, I saw more clearly. It was Harry.

I was soon walking faster. And then we were together. His face was looking down at mine. I saw his smile. And the world was mute.

I thought I had gone deaf. Even the crashing currents were unheard. The still lull was exasperating. But I could make out something – a strong, throbbing noise. The fluttering was interminable. It sounded like a clock reverberating beside me.

It was my heartbeat.

Harry was still smiling, like the minutes I was brooding deeply in thought were only seconds passed. I wanted to grin back, but couldn’t.

Sunrise was transpiring moments ago, but it was now sunset. The orange, victorious world had smoldered to a bucolic amethyst. Twilight was much prettier overlooking the coast.

Harry’s posture was off. He was slouching a bit, and his arms were eclipsed from my view. He shrouded them behind his broad back. And the sight of his frozen smile was unnatural. Graceless. Numbed. But he withdrew his hands, presenting what he had been hiding. There was a delicate bouquet. They were daisies – a simple flower with gossamery, ivory petals.

He didn’t say anything, but never ceased from clutching them forward, waiting for me to accept the arrangement. My hand clasped around his to take them, but I woke up.

It was a mystifying instance to awaken, to vivify this day. But I gathered it might have been from the staggering aurora that shone through the translucid curtains.

I rubbed my lids and extended my arms over my head. Last night had been disheartening, and my muscles still ached from the stiff stance I had fallen asleep on.

Today was the day.

There was much to do; I couldn’t spare time to reside in this bed. But the inscrutable dream had dawned its way into my mind. I detached myself from the blanket and unearthed my phone from the many cached layers beneath, in search of some sort of interpretation.