luego de tu adiós sentí todo mi dolor
sola y llorando,
llorando
no es fácil de entender
que al verte otra vez
yo seguiré llorando
(Rebekah Del Rio, Llorando)
I think I saw you in a dream. It was this afternoon, when I told myself I was only going to rest my eyes until our system's back up. I reclined my seat and leaned my head against the cubicle wall. Gathering the warm folds of my sweater about my form, I barely noticed my mind slipping into the narrow path of unconsciousness.
I’d been walking, thoughtlessly, when I heard a Hi from somewhere beside me. Not a cheery one -- not something that would have been followed with, I’m happy to see you. It was a rather flat Hi. More an acknowledgment of my presence than anything else. You’re here.
We couldn’t stay in one place, you and I. Or, to be more precise, the place was constantly changing. Whether we were the ones moving, or the place was shifting from under our feet didn’t matter.
You were talking; I was listening, occasionally responding. About what, I couldn’t hear. You were talking the way people talk in dreams -- echoes of ideas shaped into sounds. Ghostly and unreal. Unless I close my eyes and let the words form themselves into letters discernible before me, it would have been just another dream. How are you? I’ve been doing fine since we’ve met last. I hope we could hang out without having something pressing down on us. I’m seeing someone now. I’d like to meet you one of these days, but you know how it is when you’re in a relationship.
It was strange, because all the while, my eyes were never open and I could see you bright as day. Your words were marching into my vision, crowding behind you, and you were smiling. I’ll be seeing you around. The glow seemed to nova when you smiled. I couldn’t look away. I heard my voice say something, but you were already gone.
All at once I heard someone say, "System's back up." From where I was, it sounded like someone shouted it from the entrance of a cave. I mouthed the words back to myself. It was only a dream, I breathed. As immaterial as smoke. As cold as death.
Stretching my legs and rubbing the weariness from my eyes, I fired up my workstation and let the monitor flicker back to life. Once again, words marched before my eyes. Black on white. Dark on light. Beautiful, beautiful words.
You do not know this right now, and I am not about to tell you -- but I miss you. In terrible, violent, silent ways.
