#void poetry

Not a dream in the sense of a story, or even an incomprehensible series of images. But a dream who'd pop up over the years, briefly showing his face.

His blond curls framed his blue eyes and bright smile.

A boy she'd never met; a son she'd never know.

My sister and I, we've never really gotten on. That is to say:

There are pictures of her being sweet and excited when I was an infant; I cannot remember a time she was not terrorizing me, other than when she acted like I didn't exist.

I too find myself dreaming my mother's dream, on occasion.

He looks different, for me. He's outgrown his curls, blond hair still wavy around his ears.

And always the lazy grin; his eyes twinkle like he's sharing a secret, though I've yet to find out what he means.

The sight of him always feels like home; like a firm hug in the cold, a warm lamp in the night.

Safety.

I find myself gravitating towards stories with sibling rivalries so often; sister against sister and brother alike.

Drowning would be kinder

Than remaining on this purposeless plane

You’re wrapped in a dirty light of an old street lamp With blood stains on your clothes trying to calm yourself down lughing with mouth full of tears of sadness There’s no escape just the reality you live in continuously going forward with no chance of slowing down or moving faster And that simple fact drives you crazy