There
are different ways in which dreams stay with us.
Sometimes
a nightmare leaves our skin dry sweat chilled.
Other
times the first stretch of the day is with a knowing smile.
But
sometimes,
Not
often,
But
sometimes… you feel an emptiness inside,
A
doubt that clings on to one of your ribs
And
doesn’t feel the need to let go.
Did
I dream that?
Was
that real?
You
open your eyes
Look
around
And
find yourself in your bedroom.
Wrinkled
sheets and bedhead confirm it,
That
wasn’t real.
But
you can’t help shake that feeling
That
for one fleeting moment
You
were in a place with people
There
was chatter and conversations
About
Gandhi, the economy, and rhododendrons
And
everything was there
And
you were there
And
everyone was there
Except
one thing
Your
pants.
Posted
by JD Estrada Writer
