04
POLYCHROMATIC
⸻
i. you're made of mortal flesh and bones
yet in my dream,
you always appear in colours and magic.
ii. in my dream,
the tarmac will always rise
to the revolution of my bike,
the bicycle's thin frame will always creak
under our combined weight,
and you'll always sit behind me,
hands on my hips,
and you'll say:
"think you'll miss me?"
"i can't forget you." i'll say,
willing myself not to turn around
lest you disappear.
i'd never remember what we were talking about
but i remember thinking i want you to keep laughing,
laughing, until we arrive back at your home.
iii. today, i dream of us
standing in the middle of an empty road.
no cars, no motorcycles, no bikes.
just us, walking down the painted yellow lines.
your white uniform billow in the wind.
your hair is shorter,
and you wear softer sandals that squeak
when you move.
"i don't know if you'll miss me," you say.
"you know i will."
you hum noiselessly,
and we keep walking, walking,
past vacant houses and still neighbourhoods,
past uninhabited bookstores and schoolyards
until we reach your house, where
you turn around and say:
"i think you're lying."
unlocking the gates and vanishing out of sight.
leaving me alone, with your voice
rebound, round and round, my head.
iv. once, i dream of you:
your mouth,
your lips, your canines, your tongue,
moving in slow-motion,
forming familiar syllables.
you tell me:
"you know, you fall in love so quickly,
fixated in this semi-reality,
chasing after unrealities.
searching for people curtailing to your reality.
you look for people who trust you,
who believe you,
who idiolize you.
but you don't love them as they are, right?
you only love them because
they play along with your semi-reality,
'cause you can't do that to yourself,
'cause you can't believe in your reality alone.
you fall in love with what you want to be,
with different definitions of yourself,
fall in love with strangers simply 'cause
you want them to be yours.
do you really love them, miss them?
do you really love me, miss me?
you won't miss me
once you find someone else
to project yourself,
to project your hope and dreams onto."
you speak on and on,
till your words turn into a foreign tongue,
ringing in my ears.
and it could be a memory, as much as a dream.
v. last time we talked, you had your back to me,
we were loitering a bookstore's aisle,
and you were flipping through a novel,
explaining a plot i didn't really care to listen to.
there were no teary eyes and complicated smiles.
we didn't hug, or grin at each other.
you didn't like touches
and i didn't feel right hugging a half-stranger.
we haven't seen each other in months,
we probably would never see each other again.
the fissure between us made it hard to breathe.
and at some point i realized you've stopped talking.
i biked you home,
walked you up the short driveway,
and watched you lock the front gates.
my flight left in the evening.
it was a normal day, in the end.
vi. in my dreams,
in my reality,
you aren't you,
and i'm not quite me, either.
we aren't ourselves
when i bring you home for the last time.
yet, you'll always ask,
"will you miss me?"
and i'll always reply,
"i don't know."
and you'll glance
over your shoulder.
i won't see your eyes,
but i'll see your mouth
tugging upward.