Haunt me

A poem

“Dream” by Poplavskaya

I woke up from another world.
There you were, in a green and white stitched dress, 
Matching the curtains and the oppressive furniture, balanced like a painting.
Nobody realized you chose the darkest place, behind the windows,
Where the sun could not reflect how you really felt.

Both of us inside different jars, separated by frail walls of glass,
Soundproof, waiting for us to dare a bolder move but we’d never
Have the guts to break it, while the crowd expects our composure to
Ensure us a title of adequate writers, women, humans.

I called you, as I always do in my mind, as I rarely do out loud.
I called you three times. I rested my hands on your knees as a plead:

Please, look at me.

Your brown hair waved, easily moved by the few currents of wind trespassing
The windows and the open doors. What an oppressive room! 
Why are we here?
You didn’t listen to me, you could not. 
Maybe the touch wasn’t even your skin against mine but this sort of veil,
This shroud that divides our chances between dead and alive.

This dream was already dead.

I thought I could linger a little bit more. Turn this visit into my own fantasy.
Then I thought I could wake up and discover we’ve disconnected, nothing Ever happened, nothing ever existed. 
I’d be someone else. Or it would be some other time. Some different world.
The view would be another, the landscape not made of buildings,
I would not be made of my body and you’d still be made of yours.

Maybe I’d wake, hear your name for the first time and it wouldn’t mean a thing.

Maybe I wouldn’t carry this angst of losing my chance to make you see me. 
Because this longing will never go away. 
There is no corner of any town we’d eventually meet and go out for a drink, for a laugh, for a chat. 
There is no distant island, no mansion, no shack, nowhere I could venture
A possibility of us being a family again. Or friends. Or any existing link.

We’re haunting each other for a chance of being listened.
We’re the voices that raise us from our sleep, the distant calling we never 
Fully recognize and that terrifies us because, somehow, we want to follow.
We’re the uncomfortable feeling of being constantly accompanied that 
Should scare but only teases us to unravel this that has been hiding before
Our eyes.

We open them wide. 
We want to see. 
We want to answer.

Answer me.
Haunt me.