Dreaming of Hospitals

Reads: 197  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 05, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 05, 2016



Last night I dreamt of hospital beds. I dreamt of lying on one, relatively alone with only my shadow to keep me company. In the dream I began to ask questions about my whereabouts, but the shadow remained silent, just like how the world had always kept its secret from me whenever I begged to have the truth of all things revealed. I asked myself, then, how could my own shadow, an extension of my own being, be just as cruel as the external world? 
There were still no answers. 
I felt the October wind caressing my skin. A cloud from outside drifted across the sky, traveling then through the open window into the hospital room and began hovering over my head. This imperceptible cloud, pregnant with sadness unspoken, appeared to be the only bearer of my secret. It kept watch over me as I cried, for despite my usual fondness of clouds, I tended to view this one through a melancholic lens.

The cloud of my dreams had a beating heart. 
I felt its throbbing pulse in my bones. The weight of all my inadequacies then pressed heavily upon my soul, all the while the cloud absorbed my essence, getting bigger and bigger as I got thinner and thinner, well aware of the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I would never reach the same plateaus as  Sylvia Plath, David Foster Wallace, James Joyce, and all other writers whose literary merits surpassed mine. 
And the cloud listened with silent dedication, unable to decide whether to betray the quietude of the white room. But alas the silence remained, laden with sorrow's heavy odor. 

Time passed. 
Time took on a new meaning in my dream. I regained wasted moments only to lose them again in the grasp of bitterness and irony. My dreams were those of a self-proclaimed cynic, an old soul going through a midlife crisis at the age of twenty-three. As these thoughts raced past each other across the conveyer belt in my mind, the sound of the door opening brought me back into the dream's reality. I turned to look and there you were, poking your head through the narrow gap between the door and the doorframe, asking if you could step inside. And suddenly, soon as your words gently tore through the silent air, your voice's echo filling then the empty room, I smiled and nodded in response. The burden could still be felt, its outline still traced by willing fingers, yet your presence made the whole thing seem trivial. What did I need the truth for so long as I could have you in close proximity, telling me beautiful lies about a beautiful world wherein you and I were the only two occupants? It was true that you had once told me that you needed to move around, that if you were to stay still your soul would get crushed beneath life's banalities. Despite knowing that, however, knowing that I could never keep you by my side at all times, and that I needed you much more than you needed me, I failed to erase you from my life's equation. In fact, you had become a constant in this formula, an integral aspect that kept the whole foundation balanced. You knew me better than my own mother, for I had shared my secrets with you not only through words, but also through silent acts of the flesh. 

So there you sat, beside my bed with your hands folded upon your lap, and I remembered the first time I saw you at the bus stop - a first time that I had alluded to many a time before. I wondered then what time had done to us, whether it had created a rift between our bodies and minds, whether it had pushed us apart from one another, trying desperately to tell us that we just have to accept things the way they are. I didn't know. Time gave me no answers. The universe flourished in silence, and I needed to adapt to its indifference. But when I stared into your eyes, I suddenly saw a flash. It lasted for no longer than a mere second. Then you smiled, bent over and kissed my lips. 
We stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, caught in romanticism and false ideals, realizing that in this dream our ideals were in fact achievable, that doubt failed to rear its ugly head from behind our souls, that words like anxiety and inadequacy were but foreign concepts to the mind, and that the only truth that mattered now was the one that flashed across your eyes. 


And I wondered, then, if you also saw the same truth flashing across my eyes as you put your lips on mine.

© Copyright 2018 Mahan1372. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2018 Poetry Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Mahan1372

Frankie's Suicide

Short Story / Other

Until Next Year

Short Story / Romance

Us Humans

Short Story / Other

Popular Tags