These dreams are often unsettling. Small crumbs of happier times leave a trail to the edge of the mountain. Smaller annoyances continue to grow faster than bacteria. Truistic laments of broken hearts crawl through my ear and into my heart. They create tiny crevices in the dams I have built. Ghosts of the past paint their faces in my dreams so that the chains of remembrance stay true and do not break. The ant under your magnifying glass. Being burned by your judgement. Confined to my own heaven of hell. But still alive. And still breathing. And still as unforgiving as ever.
Monday, July 6, 2009
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