a dream before we were us

dream of us before we were us (may.12th.2006) 2crystal.r. apparently
about a week after our discrepancy split us the first time

(the dream as it occured):

at a cafe.. somewhere.. chit-chatting with she-who-is-no-one haphazardly about angels.. i.m not sure if any of this is making sense to her.. i.m not sure if any of it is sinking in.. i.m not even sure if she was the one i meant to speak to about these things..

"her voice will be angelic".. i continue.. placing my cup of coffee back onto the table which in purpose is both separating and connecting us.. "atleast it seems that it must be this way.. it will be in the very least noticeable that she is consciously a part of the energies.. she will be a blessing from the energies.. and our meeting will be memorable.. she will have needed to meet with me as much as i have needed to meet with her.. there will be tears that are not sad"..

the-female-no-one asks.. "will she be beautiful .?." in this i can hear that she.s just trying to be kind.. she.s helping to move the conversation along at a comfortable pace.. she notices that i am speaking of things which i feel deeply about.. but she is not fully engaged in the plot.. regardless there is something to be said about generic kindness.. because beyond informal recommendation of formal proprieties it.s nothing that is forced or demanded of anyone.. there is no applicable law to uphold courtesy.. even if in facsimile format.. i like this manifestation-of-no-one.. and this is an opportunity if nothing else to get my mind organized around these ideas..

"she will be astonishing".. i reply in all confidence.. "i have seen her in my dreams many times.. though i was never told her name".. i consider this and look out of focus beyond no-one-manifested to get lost in my thoughts on this for a moment..

i return suddenly remembering something critical.. "i left the-one-with-the-burnt-face at the other place".. i say with a noticeable but controlled concern.. "she will not move unless she is guided by hand.. she must still be at the diner".. i stand up quickly and take notice that the-girl-who-is-no-one is abruptly sympathetic.. though she of course can.t know the entire story.. she wasn.t there when this all began..

the-girl-who-is-no-one follows suit and rises.. "we must go to her".. she says this with a slight and understandable air of hesitation.. she doesn.t know what.s occuring entirely but she knows of course that people can not be left alone in places if they require a certain degree of tending-to.. it.s rudimentary consideration.. isn.t it .?.

we leave money on the table to pay for the coffee we hadn.t finished (they are always overpriced at these kinds of places.. but we will pay several times what is necessary if the change in scenery is relevant enough) we leave the cafe with an urgency that i don.t think is readily perceptible.. i would say it isn.t executed in manner to cause anyone else in the cafe reason to pay much mind to our exit (unless of course they had been following the plot-line) and though it is of course urgent that we make our escape it must be done in a considerate and refrained way so as not to disturb anyone else.s journey.. this is the way things are done..

we make way on foot through the city of people.. and on passed overabundance of metal things which protrude rudely from too many different places (it seems they are placed to be noticed.. but are failing much of the time in this city of people racing by in trances unwilling to pay attention even to loud things in their protrusion) we make way on foot through the city of people across the concrete floor which is carrying the city.. we make way on foot through the city of people.. there are so many people we are rushing passed.. people who are rushing on passed us for reasons we have no way of knowing the entire stories to.. we could stop and ask but people don.t want to communicate.. too much hassle.. not enough time for things like that.. we must rush on passed us all.. and in this we will have no way of knowing if their journeys are much more / or much less / or even very much the same degree of urgency as our own.. but this is the way things are..

i must stop and pay a toll (this is part of the way things are) but the girl takes liberty to rush on ahead of me and into the diner while i pause to pay dues to things i.m not even sure i believe in.. it.s just up ahead a few steps beyond me anyway.. no sense in us both stopping.. she wants to be helpful.. and she is not i nsincere in this.. while i pay what is requried of me i take notice of her efforts.. she has a purpose in this and she wasn.t even there when this all began..

i pass the toll gate having paid and look up to the second floor of the diner where i hear the voice of no-one inquiring of me.. "is this who you were looking for .?." no-one asks.. though i can.t tell if she.s saying this with a bit of friendly sarcasm or with a slight air of guarded uncertainty.. i can.t focus well enough this far off just yet but i quickly recognize the long red hair of the-one-with-burnt-face.. her hair had been dyed red recently.. it is a noticeably unnatural red but this is what the-one-with-the-burnt-face prefers for the time being.. i think she told me once that her hair is naturally fair.. but she just likes to keep it dyed mostly.. a light smile touches my face.. of course this is who i was looking for.. no-one repeats herself.. "is this who you were looking for .?." she can.t see the sublte glow of relief which is tangling about me from up there on the second story where they are standing.. "yes".. i call back trying to hold back signs of giddy relief..

i now see that no-one has the-one-with-the-burnt-face by the hand.. no-one was guiding the-burned-one by hand (she had been paying attention) my eyes open further and i see a piece of bread cradled in the-burned-one.s free hand.. they had fed her.. she didn.t have any money but they took care of her (when she moves through them they will stare down from their other places for other reasons and think ugly things.. but when she reaches out to be helped they step down from these places to bring her to themselves) this encourages my relief further still.. however it can not cure my abscent mindedness.. this can not be excused.. this is part of the moment that is occuring the way that it is.. and i am conscious of this..

they make way to the first floor as i make way towards the stairs so as to meet evenly with them.. the-one-with-the-burnt-face starts letting go of no-one.s hand when they are fully descended and we are now in direct vacinity of one another.. she reaches out for my hand in the same motion of letting go of no-one.. it had been my responsibility to guide her..  i feel the guilt well up thickly into my throat as i again wrap my fingers up in with hers.. i am choked with my own mistake and can.t speak right away.. we make way back through the city.. and through the people..

i find words as we walk towards to make our way down the cement stairs that lead to the subway.. "there was such confusion while we were collectivily leaving that place.. it was time to leave but i was choking on the confusion".. i tear up.. "i say this not to pardon my own error.. i did not want to leave you there.. it was not set about in my intention to do this.. i know that i am to guide you.. things can become so unclear when smoke becomes a storm and takes liberty to do as it may with an area.. and does as it will with the eyes.. there was such confusion.. i am now shamed with guilt at my having been distracted from my very purpose.. you were what i was designed to accompany"..

i can not see it directly as i am not looking into her face and i can not say that i hear it exactly but i know she is tearing up as well.. she was afraid there when i was gone.. she would not have confronted me to point out that i was wrong.. she is not the kind that condescends.. and in this it is my duty to admit the wrong.. we stop halfway down the steps that lead to the subway.. i want to tell her about another dream i had about the angel.. but the correct duration has not elapsed for us to comfortably move the subject elsewhere.. i want to tell her that i am sorry for leaving her unguided.. but i no longer believe apology as legitimate as the intent of its own definition.. i want to cry.. i want to hold her to tell her the dream and to tell her how sorry i am.. i guide us both to the ground by way of subtle shift of weight.. we sit on the steps.. again a brief time goes by without words because the thoughts have not yet fully organized.. but it is not an uneasy or rushed silence.. it is very patient..

(where are all the people now that were just a moment ago so full and busy up on the street above us and there down below us and passing right by us here .?. and where has she-who-is-no-one gone to .?. i don.t even remember when it was certain that she was no longer with us.. did i know her thoroughly enough before our brief connectivity at the cafe to have been so open with her .?. i can.t remember.. was she an angel .?.)

"when you came back into cognition i realized i missed you to burden.. i realized i wanted so much for you to be safe".. i can.t tell if these words are entirely audible through the sobbing.. maybe nothing coherent is being said outloud except the tears.. but i know that the exact meaning of what i am offering is being fully realized by her regardless.. she is good with understanding even if it is very quiet.. and she is listening.. she always has..

"i missed you".. she says back to me now very apparent that she is sobbing as well.. i like her voice when she is ungaurded like this.. she is often very soft but i wish it didn.t have to come to tears for her to be so thorough with her gentle nature..

(what was she like before i was built .?. who guided her before it was my time to be here with her .?. these are questions for which i don.t require the precise answers to.. they are questions which i won.t ever present to her.. they are questions that don.t need answering.. they are questions which only needed to be realized as questions.. i couldn.t bring myself to look her in the eye to ask anyway.. it.s only been a short while that i have been here.. so it.s still very difficult to look at all those scars.. it makes me sick and it makes me hurt for her.. i want to tell her that i love her.. but i no longer believe love as legitimate as the intent of its own definition.. and i try to be as thorough as i can with words.. i just wish sometimes that i had more to offer to her than just my hand..)

i let my head collapse weary into her lap.. my left hand and her right still clasping (this is what wants to occur) and though i have never made this gesture it doesn.t startle her at all.. i can actually feel her eyes closing in syncopation with my own.. with tiredness.. with longing.. with sighing the way we will when being comforted.. she lays her other hand gently on my head (she doesn.t realize that this is the place where so much pain has been inflicted upon myself.. i never told her.. but her hand knew to rest there) it was the only thing i.ve ever needed to feel..

i feel us as we both drift off.. away into ourselves.. tears still spilling as we slip away.. this is a slumber of synchronicity.. which comes upon both of us quickly and without warning.. the falling into us is soft and pillowy.. the dreams should prove gentle..

(i wake into life.. i am again in my bed)