Just This And No More

statue

I dreamed. Of him, lying fully suited upon a faded chintz bedspread in a nameless, placeless hotel, and I, curled beside him in a nightdress, my knees tucked up, feet covered by its hem.

“This is the way the world ends.” he said, my hand tucked into his.

The curtains were open to the rising the sun, piercing the window glass like the angry arrows of an archangel.

“This is the way the world ends.” And he was right, of course, because the long conversation of night was about to be torn to shreds, light tattering its dense fabric.

I was sad we weren’t naked. That we hadn’t conversed without armor. Now it was over – this world of night. Dawn would turn us to mute and stately marble carvings like those that lie atop tombs in old cathedrals. Him in his suit and I in my nightdress, clutching onto his hand as if time would part us.

In the dream, I laughed at myself. A moment of lucidity at how I’d turned desire to monument and stone, instead of the lascivious fuckfest I should have dreamed of.

My subconscious is considerate of boundaries.

 

  5 comments for “Just This And No More

  1. TFP
    September 8, 2013 at 6:05 pm

    RG,

    Your writing is amazing to me, “I can see them.”

    • September 8, 2013 at 6:41 pm

      Thanks for leaving this comment. When I put specifically personal things down, I’m never quite sure how someone else will read it.

      • TFP
        September 9, 2013 at 6:12 am

        I’ve been reading your work for a long time now and you continue to inspire, intrigue, and provide insight to me.

  2. September 11, 2013 at 1:19 am

    It’s funny that I would read this on your blog. I’ve just been thinking about how ridiculous it is to censor private thoughts and fantasies–whether in dreaming or waking states. The reasons why might be interesting…

  3. Helen
    October 14, 2013 at 8:55 am

    I had a similar dream, but it faded before I could quite take hold of it. This is so lovely. I can almost feel the dream again.

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