Another dream about another ex. I wonder if my subconscious is going through a spring cleaning. Is my mind a cage searching for a bird? I stole that line from Kafka. Of course, the translation is a bit off.
He trusted me to drive his car during the desert drive we both knew so well. I drove fast, not knowing any other way. He took a picture of me, I have bad posture; I took a picture of him, he had a signature pose. I cringe at both photos now, yet they still stick to the walls of my memory. I won't take them down. I will let them get bleached by the sun. I don't care as much as I care. I come out even. I come out down on my luck and searching for a winning streak.
And up there in my head I will continue to sift through the drawers of my past. I will continue to take out what was better left lying down. I will curl up with the straight and try to straighten out the knots, not knowing what forgets is on purpose.
I propose a toast. I propose a toast to the most clinging mind of mine. I propose that it let go and let in what the light has avoided for so long. May we prosper. May we pretend. May we piece together the broken parts of us forever.