The Lap of Night
Disjointed,
like a dream mid-sentence—
I write
where memory frays at the edge.
Dragons?
No.
I don’t live in castles.
I walk through shadows
that used to be mine.
I dream in real time.
The past dressed as now,
crossing streets I’ve already crossed,
but in a different light.
Or none at all.
Two women ran.
blonde, blurred but
not mine— or perhaps. Not known.
Unwritten.
They tried to outrun
something with no face,
and ended up
dying quietly
in my lap.
The dream was vague.
But their weight felt real.
I wonder—
was that failure,
or farewell?
Not everything ends
with a door closing.
Sometimes,
you just step outside
without waiting for permission.
I still run.
Not chased.
Not coached.
But moving.
Still.
I whispered goodbye
to a dream once dressed in sugar
and another
that wore credentials.
They didn’t shatter.
They dissolved.
And I watched,
as the lap of night
let them go.
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