Tangent

In my dream the snow is always falling. It is very dark and I never know where you are. (Do you know where you are?) I call for you but my words are useless, spilling from my mouth and floating down to the ground like snowflakes. My voice folding into the drifts, my words buried under ice. It’s always the same.

The sky is empty here. All of the stars fell long ago, in some other dream in some other field. Do you remember? You were with me in that dream. We were walking on a frozen lake in the middle of an endless field and all of the stars were dropping from the sky—one after another after another—leaving dripping trails of shining dust in their wakes. Between us, an almost invisible thread ran from my heart to your heart. You didn’t see it, but I did. Each time we took a step the ice would sway and splinter. Low moans rose up from the lake floor as somewhere deep down beneath the surface, the water began to stir.

There are ghosts below us, I said, haunting the ice. Listen.

Above us, the sky was a storm of light: stars twisting through the atmosphere, colliding in a thousand explosions. And then a thousand more. Between us, a thread linked your heart to my heart. I was not afraid.

Listen.

Beneath the translucent ice, ghosts were drifting through the depths; their hair swirling in the undercurrent, their mournful fingertips gliding through the water, tracing the constellations as they fell from the sky.

They don’t exist, you said.

Listen, I said again.

We listened. (Did you hear them?) Below us, echoes of weeping ghosts drifted up from the water and quivered through our feet, as stars poured down from above, blazing through the darkness, crashing into the frozen lake. Breaking open. Glowing cloudbursts of glitter scattering all across the creaking ice.

With you, I was always brave.

But that was long ago. There is no light in my dreams any longer. Every star has fallen. Now, it’s only me and the rising snowdrifts. I am always afraid. It is very dark here and I don’t know where you are. (Do you know where you are?)

I pray to three different saints: one to keep you safe, one to keep you strong, one to light your way.  

I know, I know. You don’t believe in saints. You don’t believe in anything. We are from Nowhere, we will return there. We are nothing; we will become nothing, again. Dust to dust and all of that. I know. You do not believe. It’s just that I do.

Believe.

And in my dreams, I feel you disappearing. Somewhere I cannot follow. So, I ask the saints to go in my place. One to keep you safe. One to keep you strong. One to light your way.

I know. Forgive me.

It’s not important to me whether you believe or don’t believe. It never was. What is important to me is this: you exist. But in every dream, I feel you fading away. Static snarling through your wavelength; a shift in the atmosphere. The thread that connects your heart to my heart, fraying. I can never find you. Have they found you? The saints?

One to keep you safe. One to keep you strong. One to light your way.

Listen, I said to you in some long ago dream as stars dripped down all around us. Listen.

Our thread unravels. Still, I call for you.

Listen.

I am always afraid. It’s just so dark here and the snow won’t stop falling. I don’t know where you are.

(Do you know where you are?)  

Listen.