Fabian April 25, 2008
Posted by jewaira in Fiction, Stories.4 comments
You asked me once about my dreams and I told you I had none. I did not wish to share for in sharing they might evaporate. But you managed to weave into my heart . You sabotaged those dreams, the ones I did not know were there. Perhaps the ones I never acknowledged.
So I see you sit on that shore, Fabian. You sit and your eyes look beyond the blue line on the horizon. You don’t look for me anymore. You see only the line and it signifies a separation between water and sky. It is the way you perceive things, isn’t it?
But oh, Fabian, you do know that earth and horizon never meet; that horizon and water never touch although they may seem to. It is deception. It is an illusion darling. It is an infinite illusion. It is the way we are; we shall never be together even in the maddening way things might appear to you or to anyone else. It is the horizon; it is never ending. They never touch.
Perhaps I lied about those dreams. Perhaps I dreamt of meeting you, of riding on your back as you swim out to sea, of my head resting in your lap as you read to me line after line of emotions you spill forth onto paper that grows heavy with the weight of your transgressions.
Fabian of my dreams stay there on that contemplative shore. Stay there until you can no longer see the horizon, until night falls, and all boundaries are merged into one. Then perhaps we can close our eyes and find peace in dreamless slumber, no visions of great sea dragons or mesmerizing sirens to waylay us on our voyage.
