I've watched a million lives come and pass me by, never stopping to see me. Never stopping to jump in my own hands. Not without running through the seams of each finger. I won't look out the window any longer. Where the rain pounds and begs for attention to the weeping outside. I need no reminder of that. The walk home this afternoon was enough. Keeping my head down to avoid the water's flow, all I could do was patiently watch how my work shoes clicked against the streaming pavement. How thin my shoes seemed to feel when wet, how much water could collect in the cracks of the sidewalk, how worms paraded the concrete, how I would never see this again.
I wanted to be alone, I knew I just needed to be alone. I didn't want to hear the stories, the heartbreak of others, how dearly they miss their loved ones, how badly they'll miss this world. I couldn't bear another anecdote or philosophical dream, it will all be over anyway, sooner than it may seem. Let this awareness haunt me to myself, one on one.

 

Back home, thunder struck me from the cloudy daze of the empty refrigerator light. Crashing above like a pipe organ. I blink away the fogginess, my mind lagging behind.

 

Just because I happened to be alone does not mean I wished for silence. I feared that it would only make the end that much louder. Inevitably technology would sound an alert when It finally happens. All I could think about is how unbearably loud it would be to hear all my items blaring at once. All ringing the alarm I've dreaded for decades. Just a shutter at the idea made it worth it now to go searching through my apartment for any sound. Anxiously yanking closet doors so hard they hit the wall. Barely missing a slam to myself within my narrow hallway. Not even bothering to turn on any lights to see, hands first to anything within my reach. Shoveling through until I find two fans, one small, another medium. Breathless, I knew there at least had to be one other source of sound lingering in my house. Yes, yes, an old blow dryer I meant to throw away just a year ago. Somewhere, probably in the back of the cabinet in my bathroom. It still works. Yes, that will make enough noise. It just doesn't give out heat anymore. No, it's all cool, cold air. It wasn't going to work for me, I wanted to throw it away. I never did. I never, never did. How lucky am I?
 
My living room became flooded with blank sound. My windows barricaded from light. Draped with extra linens from my closet. Always having extra, it could never all be used. Never, till now. Layers and layers against the window, fans blowing in every direction. Dangling the bottoms like floating ghosts emerging through the wall. Not quite fully entering the room. Forever in the teleportation process in between. Yes, and now all the fan heads kept guard for me. The blow dryer was the only colorful one, metallic and pink. It had to be plugged in on my counter, not on the floor by my feet. My head swept away into the music of its wind.
 
Remember with me, what a terrific dream I had. A nightmare, yes, but not to be confused with terrifying. Terrific, the word with all those long letters, the kind that looks tall. The limb-like letters that stretch like the nails on the wall, streaming, scratching down to reveal a dusty, scarlet tone. Dusty, on a bone-colored wall, particles sticking out in the darkness of the room. 

 

In my mind came the splitting of two city walls. Suddenly a perfect skyline split into a large divide. An old, rustic city. That dusty beige of ancient stone. Yet buildings so tall, lights so warm sheltered in every visible room. Inviting me to wander its streets, both ancient and new. I've heard time does not exist in our dreams. Nothing but the ramblings of our mind can reign truth over the world when we are not awake to see it. So imagine my delight, when the most unexpected figure comes to me. A giant-like figure gracing over even the tallest points of the city. First I noticed, no eyes. How big must its head be? Where does it see? Then I realize there is in fact no head at all. Just a giant, growing mass. Darkening to the most pure black color my eyes struggle to see. The mass only increases in length, interestingly narrow in size. That is when I realize where its snaky body is crossing through the city in a perfect divide. My God, where am I? Where is it now that I stand between this cascading city and the ink that has spilled? Such an extraordinary dream yet I still move in the foggy, delayed way of any other. My feet barely able to even leave their place from the weathered cobblestone. Frozen in my dreamy daze, I raise my head only to find I stand in the perfect path of the divide. The place in which the dark figure is surely to step, directly before me. Its darkness drapes off its narrow body like a beautiful gown. It has the silhouette of even the most brilliant sculptures. Feminine and flowing like a dandelion down the road. The stone now looks even more dirty, dull when She must float over it. Come closer, spread your wings. Let the feathers brush against the soft layers of your dress. I can only squint at Her as She gets nearer. She brings me in and out of the divine through each blink of my eyes. The divine Goddesses I've only imagined through the carvings of stone. Intricate sculptures then printed onto publishing paper. That place where the stretching, the curves, the etchings become flat. My mind is only able to walk in a straight line across the print. Fascinated by the way in which paper and ink can imprison the body that is meant to be seen. To be before me, allowing my eyes to wander from every angle. Now, it is plastered shut to the other many pages of a large book that is too heavy for most students to carry. Trapped between many pages that will not be open for a while, if ever. Those were the days when the sight of a statue sent shivers down my spine. When even just the relative size of them felt hauntingly divine. I feared eye contact with these mysterious beings. Misguided fright that I'd become just like one of them, or worse, that they would move before me. Right before me, but only I would be able to see. The other bystanders would stand casually unaware. It would be me who would be forced to see this discovery. Taunted by the weight of stone into keeping it our secret. Those were the days when I made sure I left a light on, when I had to hypnotize myself into believing my door was locked, when I feared the number "13". Now I stood before this large mass and felt more like a statue than ever before. I did not fear, I did not look away. I just admired how its darkness juxtaposed the sun above it. How the two did not fight with each other. How there was no blending of darkness to light. Rather, a coexistence where the sun sparked spots into my eye but did not cast any shine to the heavy shadow beside it. The phenomena I had always heard of but never seen. I looked on as the massive figure only got grander. I stay unmoving, yet eager to watch it spread its wings. How great the span must be, how warm it will feel against me. Will it suddenly appear with an open mouth and screech below at me? My God, what is there to expect in the world of dreams? One can only expect the inevitability of waking up. 
That is what I did. The waking happened before the figure could tell me it is the angel I've been hoping to see.
Back into the whispers of my fans, the breath of my blow dryer. I am awake now. I am still alive. One day, one place, one me.