Riding my twilight

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Punctured, tired dreams have no chance against a professional bed hog.

Punctuality;

punctuated emotions

trying to survive.

.

Equilibrium;

hiding in synaptic caves

hunts dreams in the night.

.

Evolution shouts;

“personal apocalypse,”

riding my twilight.

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Imagine you’re having a dream.  One of your children speaks  a language you can’t understand.

You’re holding a business card with a slick, shiny, white background.  You feel the extravagance of it, the lovely lines, with a small postage-stamp picture of a forest on one side, without being able to read a single squiggle on it.  

You’re trying to understand, but people all around you won’t stop speaking an unknown language and your child won’t stop ‘going’.  At the very end of your dream, you’re following your child  around until, at last, both of you are standing in a checkout line.

Your child tells you of tomorrow’s plans. 

“That  sounds good,”  you reply.

Your child looks away from you and says (dripping with anger),  “Everything sounds good to you!”

And you smile. “Just being near you makes me happy.”

~~You’ve just experienced the last part of my dream.~~

I awoke at 6am in a fetal position.  Fat White dog, stretched out from one side to the other, left a few inches of room at the bottom half of the bed.  In the night, my body naturally gravitated toward the miniscule area my feet were allowed to inhabit.

There’s something about being in a twilight, your head at the left corner and your feet hanging out the right corner of a bed, that’s more than a bit weird.

Weirder still,  twilight’s isolation becomes a solitary confinement–a parasite stealing my contentment with life.  

I awake to the cuteness of a Fat White Dog, following a morning ritual that brings back life’s connections and chases away the lonely thoughts.

“You’re such a good little loyal dog,”  I say, connecting my eyes to hers.  Eyes that appreciate, and want as much as I, the touch of another loving heart.

But my ‘child’ awaits; a series of books I’m compelled to write. My child never stops ‘going.’  As the books evolve, I follow wherever the journey leads, knowing that when it’s time to check out these are the last words I’ll utter on this Earth…  

“Just being near you makes me happy.”