last night i dreamed that d and i boarded a plane in new york city to fly home. during the taxi, we fell asleep leaning against each other. while we slept, i watched the plane crash on the brooklyn bridge. everyone died but us. we were preserved, we didn't wake up for hours. as we lay deep in the fitful slumber that i always find on planes, the fires burned out, the engines cooled. and when we woke, we found ourselves alone. the bridge was empty, the lights of the city cast a warm glow in the sky. we stood there, looking out on the abandoned streets and the quiet cool air and we talked about where we would go next. and we held hands in the doorway of the plane, afraid to leave the burned out husk.
sometimes, dreams don't mean anything at all. but sometimes, they seem more like chimeric visions. not always of the future, not always like one foot out of the present, not always hindsight. but when you wake up, you feel like you know.
i'm not afraid to leave the wreckage, abandoned like a failed utopian cult.
