My dreams are riddled with remembrances of pasts I have not lived

Sewn into me, your skin 

I remember your liver spots and your laugh 

I remember you sucking sponges soaked in wine 

I remember becoming a constellation of you

But, my dreams are riddled with remembrances of pasts I have not lived, perhaps pasts you have forgotten to remember or have forgotten to remember to forget. Perhaps pasts I am remembering to remember, remembering I am a constellation of you. 

Here is the thing about forgetting,,,I'm not sure I want to,  

There is a dialectic to happiness. A requiem for pain 

nearing requirement.

There is a dialectic to destruction, the requisite of a built 

requiem of the rebuildable

But in my dreams, a dissonant sound

shattered glass, vocal eruption

Your voice, shrouded by shrapnel, not laughing but loud, nearing song, but not quite, on the other side of the pendulum, its mirror, cracking 

I have never heard your cry

Only in these epigenetic remembrances. These dreams, riddled with pasts I have not lived, 

Pasts where we hold hands 

and run.

Teta,

I think we would have been friends as children. 

I think you would have liked me as an adult.  

_______

©Conceptual Artist and Identity Alchemist LIKETHEHIGHWAY