Is there no pillow for my head to find repose, no hall of redemption where I lay down the sorrow of confusion?

The dreaming of memory is a very strange thing. I have been puzzled. Here is how. In my very early adulthood (if you can call it that)
I spent a fair amount of my time as a transient nomad who was on the lamb from the police. My memory of that time is fuzzy, but I do have a recollection of all the towns...
Except one.

I can see it so clearly in my mind, and have been on it's wintry main streets a few times in my dreams, for it was in the Autumn​ or the winter months that I traveled. I recall that it was so enchanting to me that I nearly stayed, though I was only passing through.

I, with my back pack, somehow was there on the main township road, and though I don't remember my mode of arrival it must have been by bus and I on a layover with some time to wander.

In my mind it feels I could have been coming back to Shreveport on a plane from the military.

It could have been on any number of exursions. I was always running and moving about.

What I remember was checking in to a local drop in center. I had been told to check my bag in one place on the street, perhaps at a traveler's aid, and I was given a cup of coffee, while I waited on a check-in at another location which was a hostile or shelter.

I meandered about the wide boulivard  that was edged with still melting snow.
The local youth hostile offered one free overnight stay.

I cannot remember if I stayed, or if I was able to be sponsored a bus ticket out of town, or met another kind stranger who offered a ride out of the town.

I cannot remember what State the town is in. I remember nothing else about it except I feel that I had been there twice, once with a traveling companion, and once again, later on my own, which was the time I recollect on the street thinking that this village might make a good home, should I ever want to begin again, if I could ever be afforded the chance, or really need a place to hide. That is if it weren't middle America in the early 1990's and very dangerous for a gay boy to be travelling alone in these towns.

Here is the part that makes no sense, except for why I cannot remember it. I can't possibly have ever been in such a place, for it is off the path of highway 55 on which I always travelled.

I thing I told myself I would go back to the town one day, when I was in need of a place to visit, but I cannot remember the name of the place. I cannot be sure it exists at all, but in my mind.

Still, the arcitecture of the buildings were different that the generic houses in Shreveport - almost like a New England town.

All I can fathom is that there are pieces of me out there that are somehow still lost, or that I chose to leave behind, rather morosely because a place so perfect and normal  could never be my home. I was but a visitor.

I cannot even be sure I was myself​.
Maybe it was all just a dream that I had about a dream I once had.

Maybe if I were to have the experience again, I would grab hold to something and anchor myself to such a beautiful place.

Maybe I wouldn't be so afraid to stop running, that I could stay a while and talk to some of the people. As I've said, it was cold, so nobody was out.

I hate these bittersweet moments of recall that I cannot decern fantasy from reality. All the same, I do not think I would choose to give them up. The minds is the greatest scape across which to gaze.

I wonder if there could be some sort of collective vagabond consciousness that allows us the peak into each other's experience whenever we are at some sort of life precipice? Sometimes I feel as though my thoughts are not my own.

Even insanity has it's moments of perfection.

I am going back to sleep.

Like I know that you can't take things back,
But you can make sure all the pain and suffering will be repaid back,
As smiles and good things,
Support in all the things,
You want to do,
You need to do,
Just always remember,
That I love you.

Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:

“You see that man?”—I might have looked, and said,
“O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban’s Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought.”

“You see that man?”—”Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do.”

“You see that man?”—”Nay, leave me!” then I plead,
“I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!”

“Good. That man goes to Rome—to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie.”

I would like to sit down and cry,
Drowning in these feelings I can't make up my mind,
Why do I have to go through this when noone else does,
Why did you raise me in this hell,
shouting all the time,
Both of you should've reconsider having a second child,
when you weren't even able to take care of the other one,
You argued every night,
You shouted and attacked each other with knifes,
Hurting each other you shattered our past,
Destroyed everything that could last,
Now when I look back,
I have nothing to smile for,
Nothing I can remember I could hope for,
Everybody else has something,
Some nice memory of their childish dreams,
I have no imagination of how it feels,
To have a normal family,
Without this I will never be able to live happily,
The only redemption I could've,
Would be to create a new family,
Not failing my kids the way they used to fail me.

on a hot summer day of popsicles and cantaloupes
we're on the asphalt playing tag and pushing swings;
my pigtails bouncing from skippers and jump ropes.
i'm wearing suspenders and a bow tie
and you're in a baby blue dress with sunflowers in your hair
and there are gems in the corners of your eyes.
we're walking across balance beams and meeting halfway
but the sound of 80s music blaring
from the windows of my mother's voice is calling me away.
i look into the young sunshine in your eyes that lured me to stay.

on a rainy spring day of dr. seuss books and board games
we're under a blanket fort making shadows and telling secrets
with our minds getting so lost in stories until we forget our names.
i'm clenching my pink teddy bear, in love, yet in fear,
and you've glow sticks and their light in your hands
let's dance and go crazy, you whisper in my ear.
we're singing into hairbrushes and playing dress up
but the sound of the doorbell ringing
from your father's door taunts us, saying we obsess too much
but we don't care.
you kissed me for the first time and i knew without it i'd be messed up.

The waves come crashing
Soon I am sinking, slinking down
Into the bottom of an ocean
My own eyes created
I see a few surviving, fighting
Off the unforgiving currents
While others just let themselves
Down, they let themselves drown
I am always hovering
In between the two
I can neither sink nor swim
I do not understand how one
Can win or lose a battle
Against their own mind
I guess time will tell how long
I can really hold my breath

Love or lust?
Truth or trust?
Rain or rust?

From the day I first met you
I knew you should be mine
We have the same crooked smile
And the same longing in our eyes