“a sleep without dreams” by Julia on her patio

Monday, June 18, 2012
5 minutes
Langston Hughes

A sleeping baby, a sleeping dog. That is what I picture when I look back into my mind, reaching for peace.
That baby is mine, that dog is yours. That picture, that picture is ours.
You and I have made a family.
We watered it and we watched it grow.
We no longer say, “the grass is always greener”.
We know that the grass is green where the rain is welcome. Where the water is. Where the love is.
I miss you now, more than ever.
I miss your hands, your feet, your heartbeat.
I miss the way when I brush my teeth I still expect your arms to come up and hold me.
I hated it then.
I miss it now.
I want the family in the picture. The part I haven’t yet mentioned is the part where you’re writing me a letter.
A love letter, I like to imagine. The letter you give me with tears in your eyes, and then I carry the same words around with me in my old peeling wallet.
But this letter isn’t telling me beautiful things that I have or have done.
It’s the one where you say something terrible.
I think goodbye is in there.
I think sorry is also there.
I feel like jumping back into that picture in my mind right now. That’s where happiness is. That’s where I was at my best and you were at my side. Loving that my best to me was not my best to you and with age, I would actually get better.
And now, with your watered plants and watered trees, the grass is green but I no longer see any colour at all.