A Walk In the Aftermath

The shine on my glasses reiterated the manifestation of the passing clouds.  Even with the fall of night, and the shade of darkness, I knew they were moving.  Baphomets of the sky, things I can only observe, and think I'll never touch.
The fog was only visible around street lamps, wilting onto the roadside.  Their glow melted into the background, leaving more night to be encountered. My steps were the only dissonance to the silence. Even though I felt I was treading lightly, aimed quickly for the destination in sight, I knew there were many steps between I and home.  The allure of a quiet street in an almost silent ambiance left the realization, "This is what it feels like to dream." Even if I knew my long coat was soaked from the humidity alone, It still was outside of me, it wouldn't matter how much water was close to my skin.  I caught myself looking all around, every direction racing around, turning forwards, backwards, running up and down the streets, only to be truly standing still.  Returning to my pace, the image of myself walking beside, past, in the reflections of mirrors and windows.  I'm the only one here. This is my world, this one street. If I am a spirit, this shall be where I shall wander, seeking to return home, but never quite reaching my destination.  The sound breaks my silence.  A pair of headlights lurking from the darkness behind.
I am standing on the corner, one block from my home.  It's not a dream anymore, it's just home.  The nightmares flash back, of dogs, scary men with the intentions of harms, and other manifestations of fear which haunt my dreamscape play much in the minds of reflective surfaces.
My hands on the door.  I'm no longer free, my spirit is no longer wandering along side me.

Ravenjeanette Ravenjeanette
18-21, F
Mar 1, 2009