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Last night I dreamt
Of music
And theatre
Front row seats

I could see
Every expression
Every fake tear
Every barely hidden laugh
Like I was in on the joke

There were some others
Too, I think
People I knew
People I loved

Together we smiled
There, in the front
Upon plush red seats
Numbers 88
To 91

Until suddenly
BOOM!
The air ripped me apart
Only a second of realisation
Before that world was gone
Basically imagine the bomb-test scene from Oppenheimer. The dead quiet before the sound hits.
I for the life of me can't remember what preceded this part of the dream--something weird I'm sure--but I remember it ended with a bomb that legit felt so realistic (well...as far as I can imagine) I could feel the vibrations of the hit. I didn't even have time to be scared in the dream. No waking up with a sudden lurch either. It was just
BAM
****
gone, and I was awake.
For a few seconds after waking I briefly considered the idea some people believe that "dreams are glimpses of alternate universes". Had some version of me just died? Ridiculous, but I entertained it the way you entertain daydreams.
I mourned a little for imaginary me.
It made me think of the scary times we live in. Things could change, just like that. Things are changing.
Round and round it goes
A fish in its paradise
Contained in a jar.
>**>
Diamond sprinkles shine
On nature’s disrupted glass
Life sprung from the pond.
Another 2-word prompt for haiku. Both are about a fish
I am selfish in the fact
That I want you to talk to me
About anything
So that I might feel closer to you
Instead of wanting you
To just be
You#8
On dreary days
When the sky is grey
And the light is white
My state of mind
Is mine to choose.
To wallow or to waver
Or to cherish and to savour.

But on days when warmth
Seeps into my skin
And I’m pleasantly glowing;
With tiredness seeping out
I can only be at peace.
If there were no words
For our identities
(If we were just
People, and only that)
Would it still matter
Who is attracted to who?
Or would it just be
A meeting of souls?
This too will once pass
These silver tears of sorrow
I shall call it ‘end’.
---
Old framed picture wall
Dust on long forgotten shelves
I shall call it ‘time’.
Written for a 2-word haiku prompt
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