I went to bed early last night, or earlier than I’ve been. I had a dream that the earth was swallowed whole by who I could not see. I dreamed I was lost again. There was a shore and stones and waves but nothing else.
And I’ve been writing about ghosts again. I only ever write about ghosts. I think one followed me home last night when I was waiting for you. It curled up next to me and asked for hot chocolate with extra whipped cream on top and asked if it could brush my hair. Ghosts hands are always cold. They would be good at making chocolates, hands like marble. My hands are always too warm and the chocolate will melt before I can make it perfect. The ghost wants to brush out the waves from my hair.
And I’ve been watching people’s shadows too much lately. Sometimes they move faster than the person they are attached to. I always used to feel sorry for shadows, what if you couldn’t stand the person who you were the shadow of? I notice the shadows of people I love the most. Sometimes they flicker in and out like Christmas tree lights set to blink out messages. I wonder what the message is.
And I’ve been thinking about the Ice Maiden in fairy tales. She kisses the feet of the one she wants and takes him under the cold. I used to fear the way her breath might feel. So cold like ice evaporating backwards, getting closer and closer to the heat of your heart.
And I’ve been trying to find ways to speak. I think I lost the words somewhere, on my way home perhaps like a receipt I meant to keep but slipped from my pocket or maybe while running from something in my dreams. So when I speak now the words come out as nothings. I wish you could hear how much there is in these nothings.
I went to bed early last night, or earlier than I’ve been. I had a dream that the earth was filled with ghosts. I dreamed I was waiting for you again. There was a shore and stones and waves but no one else.