That there; that's not me....

I ended up at the beach. Waves breathed in quickly, as if to speak, and then exhaled without words. I laid on the ground and let the sand sponge the warmth off my body. Songs ran through my head, but that was about it. I was just.....there. On the way back, I saw a dead rat in a driveway. It was belly-up, with stiff limbs pointing skywards. I wanted to touch it, but Lord knows what diseases run rampant through the rodent population these days.

A child; his fingers above his head, tasting the air. His face tipped back, feet dipped in grass. "Look, Mom, I saw a shooting star!" Her head met the angle of his, as the moonlight teased eyes into slits.
I watched them as I walked past, their sillohettes seemed cut from cloth and pasted, in soft cursive forms, to the night. I held a letter in my hand, but I couldn't read what it said. The words were in English, but they sat at awkward angles; vowels falling all over the place, overlapping punctuation. My feet moved me, obeying the pull of magnetic poles. Legs were drawn as sticks without knees, like someone had started to create me, and got bored half-way through.
We met in a field, and traced a line through the weeds to meet in the middle. You leaned in towards me, scrutinizing the contours of my face. Then you rocked, stiffly backwards, and fell into place with eyes cast downwards. I forgot your name. I knew your face, but I didn't know who you were. A kind of fear was blushing in the space between us. I swallowed dust that coated a lump in the back of my throat. We didn't recognize eachother. I knew I was there for a reason, but I couldn't find it. You laughed, distracted.
"Watch this." You raised your hands above your head and made your fingers dance with freckles of light in the air. You pulled a star out of the sky, and it turned to dust in your palms. You reached for another and another until there were none left. Then, with your sleeve, you rubbed out the moon. Now I couldn't see your face. My eyes were wet with tears; my forehead slick with sweat.
"The sun won't rise tomorrow, it has nothing to follow/ Another mission failed, just one more Apollo."

I haven't dreamt in so long, I assumed the whole thing was real.






"I'm not here, this isn't happening."
-Radiohead