Why do I dream of places I've never been, and people I've never met? Or have I just not lived that part of my life yet?

I dream of seas uncharted
Forests untouched, creatures that speak different tongues.  
I've flown faster then I could see, soared higher then I could dream. Lived and died through lives till I reached insanity.

Science says its all just sub conscious. what I see is all pre determined, like a program expected to keep things together. Yet why are my dreams  leaking into my daily life. These
Places ive been
faces I've seen
I can't find them in real life.
Or Were they hiding in the sea of heads when I walk the streets,
Or where they sitting right beside me on air plane seats.

So why do I see these places? Beaches on top of caverns, jungles inside of mountains,  cities under water, and you holding my hand as we stroll through the park on a windy day. With you wearing your favorite scarlet  scarf. You smiling back at me as we pass a man playing the piano. Your favorite instrument. you tell me how one day you'll learn to play as well, and I'll be seeing you perform on stage one day. And I kiss you on the cheek because I love how you dream so big yet never fail to include me in it.

Ah yes.
Why do I dream of impossible places with faces I've never met.
Or maybe I just haven't lived that part of my life just yet.

When I was sketching this afternoon,
my strokes seemed unsure
and my lines were all wrong and
I realized some things about you.

The reason your fingers
always seem to be slipping
every time you try to catch a
handful of waterfall
is because once upon a time
the rocks that your soles were planted on
crumbled.

You used to be a deer,
the way you stood on new heights
and how you looked on
with a steady eye, so
when was it that you decided
one more step was too much for you to climb?

The burying must stop.
It has been proven time and time again
that no matter
how deep a grave is dug,
the flowers will give the bones away.

I don't understand why you
confuse seawater with fresh, because
I know that you've already stuck out your tongue
and tasted the sweetness of real freshwater
or have you?

You are dust
walking in deep shadows
where I cannot find you.
I have only a candle
and my words, but I will wait.
After all, in the beginning,
something beautiful was made from dust
and from a word
sprung a world.

And lastly I realized that
I hope that you someday read this poem
and we will sit together in the afternoon sun
and you will listen to the sound of new things
as I sketch with sure strokes
and just the right lines.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.