Sometime before turning myself into a human burrito wrapped in the hand knotted blanket, I was eating bananas while he knelt between my knees. I still have no idea who we were supposed to be. Still lives from an album cover? A premonition? A warning? Subconscious compost?

After several chapters and crying all too easily from longing, want and the familiarity of a shared past, I surrendered.

Nap dreams are ridiculously lucid sometimes. The couch and blanket took themselves into the story. Nestled and burrowing like a wild animal between my feet, he read at me from the Bible in a fake, foreign accent. The scripture was familiar but his false voice was obnoxiously distracting.

Stop! Stop it! Just use your voice!

My body pulled violently between the dream and sleep itself. Exhausting indecision. I wanted to hear him say something worth listening to but instead got taken for a ride.

Speeding down the brick walled alley, I emphatically insisted he slow down. The salesman was in the back seat, suited in paper thin promises while we sat up front debating across the dog. My protests, along with the dog’s silent terror and the salesman’s eventual and anxious suggestions that he pump the breaks, went blindly unHeard. It was his highway.

I’d intended to spend the time manifesting something good. Who’s to say it hadn’t been?~

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