can i take your picture?
uncomfortably i toyed with the drawstrings on my hoodie
i don't know.
his lens widened and narrowed as i stared
tears were filling my eyes
what's the matter?
i forgot today is the day my mom died
tears uncomfortably made its way down my cheeks
i smile and my hood gets smaller and smaller
the aperture of my face
and i remember how angry i was
that she ruined
by now gasps were overtaking me
that she ruined my birthday
his face displayed concern and empathy
at this cathartic confession
while i grieved my 21-year-old selfishness
that at her death, i'd be focused on mehe snapped away
as i stared into the unforgiving lens
and woke up in tears.
and maybe for three seconds, i believed her to be dead.
*the strange this is, my dream felt so real... it was as if it had given me the memory of the fact that my mom had already died, or maybe it was a memory from a previous dream, or something.
*stranger thing is, i had narrated it in my mind, and what i just wrote above are the fading vestiges of what was originally in that sonambulic stupor.
*i think it's because I read Pale View of the Hills last night... that book was good. i'm still chewing on it right now.