love.

its more important that I ever imagined. really. it's huge.
so many ways.
fear, joy, despair, loneliness, smiling, laughing.
connected at the core.
a jumbled ball of string whose end is tucked away deep where it might never be seen.
just unravel it a bit then wrap it back up haphazardly.
or maybe you can lay it out straight and run your fingertip along, pressing hard to leave a scar.
sway it loosely, as if teasing a cat, then yank it away at the last second.
bound.
tie me up in a neat little bow...and
love me.

and again.

Publish Post

I read somewhere that dreams are what happen while your brain is busy filing memory into neat little compartments...or something like that. And that things get, mixed up, confused, out of sequence and while the rest of your brain is busy  dreams float on the surface flashing daily dramas and mundane nicety and sometimes unspoken fear. Reoccurring dreams are some sort of glitch, the filing drawer left open or the memo never read. It's always the same, a place with so many rooms that all feel strange and yet, familiar . Opening doors and knowing what I think will be behind them and sometimes its easy and I'm right, but sometimes I'm wrong and I feel embarrassed or ugly. My dreams so often have to do with rooms, big houses, mazes and confusion with a spatter of triumph and comfort  here and there. I suppose that's how it goes.