There is a house in my dreams and it comes to me again as I am scraping hummus out of the blender. I was there last night and I may never return but I would like to. I'd like to know who was giving the tour and why I felt so honored to be there. It's not just the way the walls were built or how the sun bled through them but how the secrets inside were only for some. I knew it was a dream. It was a dream. But sometimes, lately, my mind plays a game with itself and I am no longer in charge. Usually it's spiders, spiders and I am so sure they are there that I jump out of bed. But they aren't because he asks "Are you sure?" and when he says that I realize with great difficulty that no, I am not sure. My mind laughs and then keeps me busy all night surviving tidal waves and finding houses with infinite rooms and doorways and mirrors that no one else is afraid of, no one else can feel the strange sickness that hangs in the air, waiting for us to knock it over and make ourselves known. No one's listening because the words are still in my stomach, staying safe inside, churning between my ribs and urging me to leave. It's not that I think the dreams mean something, it's that I know they do but we will never figure it out. Can you remember so many of your dreams? Can you make yourself fly to escape, actually make the decision to fly, to flap your wings and climb higher and higher? Can you feel the weight of a room? Can you see them standing above you? Have you ever thought they were there and then not been so sure at all? Do you see figures in rooms that aren't haunted? I would welcome the normalcy of waking for a glass of water if it meant I could close my eyes and see nothing. I am so tired because I am so damn busy all night, traversing the jungle to mysterious houses and following someone down a long hallway and if I could just get back there again, tonight, maybe I could see who it was. Maybe they would let me stay.
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