In this dream I was running.
The grass was the colour of deeply polished jade, and the sun had warmed the sidewalk enough that my bare feet were warm. I could smell the trees in leaf, the clover in the ditches, and the rain that would come later in the evening. Was I running to, or away from?
I wasn’t myself, to begin with. At least, not the me I am most accustomed to being. I was instead someone much better, someone whose stories ricochet in my inner ear. From here to there, I heard her voice; the tones of the Other, and her cadence was familiar. Not my own, though. Definitely not my own.
“Come bye, come bye,” I chanted as I ran. And I knew what I was running for. I ran through intersections and across fields, and the chant became “Away to me, away to me”. I ran until my lungs ached. I ran until the muscles in my legs twitched. I ran until there was nowhere else to run.
Still I could not reach what I was running for.
Away, away to me.
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