feeble. his arm hurts. being ignored by everyone else. sharp pain of the loss and love for him, because i have a lucid knowing that he's dead already and it's only a dream. old decoration of living room in childhood: dark wood, rust-colored sofa. he is visiting our house. sitting on the corner square by the fireplace. i bring him some fruit. i say apple, plum, peach? he says all. i slice them up-- vivid. again that gutting hurt of knowing it's too late to show him my love. an urgent feeling then of knowing the dream is fleeting and wanting to see him one more time. he doesn't really see me, though. is wandering the house.
~
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