Monday, April 9, 2012

Persona Non Grata

"I dreamt about you last night," I tell her.

"Really?" she grins, but I can't tell if it's a bemused grin or a facial platitude.

"...Never mind; it was—is—stupid."

"Tell me," she insists, looking up at me, the whisper of the previous grin still reverberating around her features, bewitching, ensnaring.

"It doesn't make much sense, but..."

I begin.

"I was somewhere golden—somewhere tropical. There were people all around me. No one recognizable."

"Was it somewhere you've been before?" she asks me, her eyebrows knitting themselves millimetres closer together across the fabric of her face.

"No. It wasn't. I don't think it exists."

"I was drifting around—not walking or anything—gliding?—and I saw you, by the pool."

She smiles here, and as sincere as she looks, I am, once again, afraid.

"I knew it was you right away—your hair—your eyes—and I floated down from wherever I spied you, and embraced you—everything had seemed foreign and unfamiliar before that. You were happy to find me—I think you were scared too."

The rest of the dream seems too whimsical to evacuate the waking impression I’m left with—just how out of the blue her eyes and lips were, how empty I became when I realized it was a dream—just like this conversation I picture myself holding with her.

"You have invaded the lonely haunt of my mind far more frequently than I have ever wanted to admit—will admit in any way other than anonymity. Distance between us has always existed, but I thought for a while there was something here capable of bridging that gap. If only...if only you knew what kind of spell you put on me, maybe you would be more loving—more charitable in your affectations to me. But as it stands—as we stand—I know I am a pest, a persona non grata, a tick, a worm – so, once again, I am left at arms length by another person too afraid to embrace me back."