In Her Dreams I Was Her

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I have so much loneliness in me, so much more than I could bear. Mother gave it to me one night the first time she was standing on the ledge near the window in our 30 stories high two bedrooms flat. She was in love with heights, so every night she took the dragons out and played with them outside by the window. She’d learn to fly. And fall.

I got so lonely everytime she did, for this grave feeling seeping through my skin, that she would fly (or fall) and would never find her way back to me (and father). She had certain ways of seeing life and death. Most of the time, to her there was no difference in both. But at times she saw death as a release and life was a cage in which one could only see what was not and could never feel what was real. What was real she saw in dreams.

She shared these dreams with me. She wrote them in a diary. Tell no one, she said to me. In her dreams, I was born into her world. I was her.

When I, My Own Daughter coming to you this spring.

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