A Dream
I dreamt of you last night. You were wearing that dark blue polo shirt you hadn't worn in a long time. It looked good on you, not too tight.
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| Daddy and Paper Birds, 2012 |
You were sitting on the tv rack we placed to the right of the living room, and I was standing across the room, leaning on the multicolored table. You were playing with the paper birds I made a long time ago, but only now they were alive, hovering over your head and arms, landing on your hair and shoulder. I said: 'I dreamt that somehow you were alive again', or something like that. You just chuckled, distracted with the birds, and said 'Ah, no... No...' You were not sad, not at all. You were fine, just sitting there, playing with the paper birds. Delicately picking them up in your hands, gently handling them, caressing their feathers... And then placing them back on your shoulder, or your head. You looked contented and comfortable.
I miss you terribly. And I'm writing this because I know it was a good dream, and I will cherish it later. But right now it just hurts me. Because it is hard to conceive you are no more.
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