Answers in the Dark

While I sleep, he count my eyelashes much as a child might a flower- she loves me illogically, she loves me not…The answer is like the stars, it seems and never an exact number; But still, he tallies the score hoping to find something more absolute.

He looks at me like I’m completely crazy when I tell him about my dreams, but I’ve seen him, when he thinks I’m not looking, sneak back into our room and shake out that old dream catcher, as if he actually believes there might be something hiding there to show him what I mean. I have to admit, that sometimes, I wish he would find something caught in that net, like a talking fish or a flying monkey, left over from the night before; unsure how to find its way back behind my eyes. Maybe then, he would understand.

I suppose that is really asking too much. Instead of the impossible, or even, the impractical- there is only dust, and the dust is never magical when he is looking with his skeptical lenses on. I think, after he has satisfied his thoroughly logical witch-hunt, he laughs at my ridiculous notions before placing the web back above my side of the bed. I don’t know why he bothers sometimes, or why I let him believe that the world is the sensible creation he so desires...

Before I fall asleep I can feel his eyes searching the darkness for answers it refuses to give; he watches my eyes dancing behind my lids and I hear him repeating his nighttime rhyme- She loves me impossibly, she loves me not logically….