Boston – Post Apocalypse

An old dream notated the morning after and filled in today.
I will not edit this.

There was no real time line or structure to events, I just knew what had happened while laying in bed.

It felt like Boston.  The world had ended and the streets were vacant.  Our place was set on a hill in the middle of the city, a community that once supported itself.  There were broken windows everywhere and the smell of something frightening.  We were being hunted by things that weren’t tangible and stayed inside the house for the most part.  Dust had settled in and everything had a sepia hue.  Scattered around the bedroom were pictures of our respective family and friends, we had turned some picture frames down because the site of them was too much to bear.  Behind the dresser was a tiny door which led to a crawlspace between the antique bedroom and kitchen, our safe zone.  There wasn’t much to see, sleeping bags, water, canned food and some candles.  We were forced to use it once when they were starting to realize there was still life inside of the house but we took an unspoken vow not to talk about the room.  The bed was narrow and long.  A bit wider than a twin sized bed but twice as long.  It might have been years since everyone died, it might have been months, I don’t know.  In the end not much mattered.  The deaths and disappearance of life didn’t matter, the trauma didn’t matter, the stale air didn’t matter.  All that mattered at that moment was laying beside you while you napped.  All that mattered was hearing your heartbeat.  All that mattered was listening to you breathe.  All that mattered was… just being and having the hope that we could just be, tomorrow.

I do think about you. Ethereal ties can never be cut.
I’ll always find you in the desert
And in Chicago
And At the foot of the old Hancock Tower, standing on the ruins while looking for the book
And on a couch on a rainy day.
And I’m sorry.

Happy birthday, Alexa.