we are most alive in dreams

just before i lay down to go to sleep, i like to wander around the dark hallways of my house pretending everyone is still awake in their rooms reading or having a snack or enjoying a cigarette, the windows open, moonlight peeking in.

the darkness doesn’t bother me lately. it used to when i was younger, back when i had an imagination. now, i just float along like a ghost with no place to haunt.

i always end up in the kitchen, staring at the dirty dishes piling themselves high in the sink, soaking in cold and murky water. a fresh glass of water always follows me into my bedroom and places itself on my night stand, begging me to drain its contents before sleep finds my eyes.

i always do. so that way by the time morning comes i actually have a reason to get out of bed.

i wrote her a poem once.

his eyes swayed a bit towards me and he smiled at the corners of his mouth. it hurt to talk about her. to talk as though she were still alive. still breathing the same air as him. still laughing and smiling against the backdrop of shaded trees blowing in soft spring air.

this one though, will be much better.

he shed a single tear and tried to catch it before my eyes could find it. but i saw his entire world then, clutched in that single tear. it was as though his entire life was flashing before my eyes. giant picture frames bleeding and meshing together, like two different flocks of birds joining over the same patch of earth, turning and darting, together but still entirely separate.

i almost shed a tear, but lowering the gun i had pointed at his chest wasn’t worth the emotion.

how poetic.

to say that the night started off like any other would be both slanderous and a lie. between the homeless men fighting off the three bar hoppers with mismatched high heels and the fruit stand on the corner of 23rd selling gourds shaped like the faces of famous movie stars, i could have told you that finding ourselves in a jail cell come morning shouldn’t surprise you.

for that, i am sorry. a fair warning should have slipped through my lips but i forgot what we were talking about and things got out of hand between us from there. had i mentioned jail you would have suggested that we turn back. i knew that i couldn’t handle another night inside, even though the rain was falling in heavy sighs. we took refuge in every storefront we could find along the way.

by the time we got to the speak easy i could tell that the chances of finding a dry set of clothes between the three drunks that were already there were slim to none. we carried on and i ordered us four drinks.

the bartender seemed confused by my demeanor. i couldn’t tell if she was high or if the fact that it was only 9:30 and i was already on a mission to start trouble bothered her. i tipped her three dollars and sixty-two cents and told her to keep the change. her mouth was hanging open as i walked away so i gave her a wink.

the smoke was already starting to get thick and i could tell that things between our eyes were starting to get hazy. our conversation was muddled as we tried focusing on things other than the terrible piano player in the corner and the men at the bar talking about a cross-eyed bus driver and if it impaired his driving abilities. i almost told them to keep their mouths shut but your hand on my shoulder told me otherwise.

i gave the piano man six dollars and asked him to play me a song. when he asked which one i told him whichever one he did best because i was sick and tired of listening to him play like a six year old. i could tell he was confused.

a man dressed in a karate gi started doing spoken word poetry over the piano player’s ambiguous fingerings through random minor and major scales. it would have been hard to carry a melody so i’m glad he didn’t inspire me.

the bartender came by so i ordered us four more drinks. she gave me quite a look when i asked her to make them with alcohol this time around and we had a good laugh after she left. when she returned with a full bottle of scotch and a 2 liter of store brand soda i told her that she forgot the ice.

your infectious laughter spread to the rest of the bar and it was obvious that i was the only one that got the joke. the others at the bar were still swimming in an endless pool of bullshit about the cross-eyed bus driver and couldn’t help but think we were laughing with them. the bartender went red and her hands clenched together in fists.

i was lighting a cigarette when she tried to hit me with the full bottle of scotch. i dodged it effectively but not without falling backwards out of my chair. you were already out of your seat punching her in the stomach when the broken bottle of scotch met the tip of my fallen cigarette, igniting the wall and the unlucky girlfriend of the karate gi man.

as we scrambled for the door, i could hear him yelling and shouting at me while trying to douse the flames that were consuming his girlfriend. apparently they don’t teach “stop, drop and roll” in karate classes. it’s a waste of money if you ask me.

your eyes reflected the fire as we watched from the next block over. i’ve never seen anything that destructive up close. my eyebrows were gone and you smelled like smoke. there was a dash of soot on your cheek and blood flecks on your coat. i assumed it was the bartender’s.

i asked you if we should go back and you refused saying that you’d kill the bartender if we ever went back there again. i suggested that the fire might have done that already.

you agreed.

thinking about what breakfast would be the most delicious on the day of my death. thinking about why my mind has been so blank since the day you told me you loved me. thinking about how long it’s going to take for me to say it back to you.

the hum of the television fills my eyes as sleep drifts in and out of my life, ears closing faster and faster around the little melodies that play through my head as the filaments inside of the light bulbs swinging around giant ropes and chains between reason and insanity hiss and finally break.

getting comfortable inside of something no one cares about is hard.