day 28: foxhole

If my head moves too fast to run after, my dreams are gone.
If I keep it encased in <300 sq. ft, those dreams come back to eye.

This morning as I slept through six alarms,
I dreamt of wandering around a city that was supposed to be this but was clearly not
Missing busses and my heavy-ass backpack weighed down with a book currently taking up space on my disaster zone of a desk
I found both of them at an underground station, huddled in a crowd of four on an otherwise empty platform,
one of them stepping back and on a stranger’s foot and giving them grief when they deigned to point it out
I told them “Now you’re being an asshole” and pulled them away by the crook of their elbow
and through a choreography that we’ll never dance
as we started walking to find another stop

I hooked my right arm in their left
then switched sides to hook my left in their right
and then just looped both arms around them and held a little tight as we kept walking forward
They put their right arm all the way around my shoulders as I leaned into them as much as I could while still walking

The rest was a maze as we all lost each other
An obstacle course to get back to the surface.

I woke up at 2pm staring at the ceiling and held its gaze for a while
because the sensation of hugging, holding, another body was too real and not to be melodramatic on Main but goddamn, I miss it.
How did Ada Limón read my mind?
It’s a funny thing, each of us with this concentrated frustration and these dammed-up tears, all alone and yet in solidarity.
I hold my hand up to the air, as if comparing it to someone else’s, palm-to-palm;
somewhere in this world, someone else is doing the same.

I can feel the layers of my eyes start to peel away and dissolve at a certain hour of the day now;
Feels like they’re sinking back into their sockets.
I need to cold turkey my way out of werewolf hours.

Anyway professor if you read this this is why I missed our meeting and I really am sorry.