Wall
I painted the wall with chalkboard paint. To leave messages to myself, to let others leave messages to me, or at least to give myself the dream of other people caring enough to talk to me on this wall.
I came home one day, and the message was there, from someone I don’t know, and it asked me “Who are you?” I left it alone, and walked backwards; I left my room, telling myself it’s a dream.
I returned, and the chalk scrapings described the girl of my dreams, in meticulous detail, in flowing verse, in beautiful sonnets. The wall said, “This is me”
I nervously picked up a bit of chalk, and in shaky handwriting wrote out the me that resided within my heart , I shared my dream of meeting her, of waking up with her, and letting the morning sun turn darkness into the world. “I love you” was what I wrote at the bottom of the words.
I slept that night with my body pressed against the wall, imagining it was her, and that she somewhere was doing the same the wall that faced her. I could feel warmth, alongside the cold of the night; I could feel warmth on my flesh that touched the wall.
She told me later that she never existed, that she never will exist. That this was all a dream. Finally she wrote, “When you wake up, I will die”
And I did.
I came home one day, and the message was there, from someone I don’t know, and it asked me “Who are you?” I left it alone, and walked backwards; I left my room, telling myself it’s a dream.
I returned, and the chalk scrapings described the girl of my dreams, in meticulous detail, in flowing verse, in beautiful sonnets. The wall said, “This is me”
I nervously picked up a bit of chalk, and in shaky handwriting wrote out the me that resided within my heart , I shared my dream of meeting her, of waking up with her, and letting the morning sun turn darkness into the world. “I love you” was what I wrote at the bottom of the words.
I slept that night with my body pressed against the wall, imagining it was her, and that she somewhere was doing the same the wall that faced her. I could feel warmth, alongside the cold of the night; I could feel warmth on my flesh that touched the wall.
She told me later that she never existed, that she never will exist. That this was all a dream. Finally she wrote, “When you wake up, I will die”
And I did.