If I were a ghost, how did I die? I dreamed I died in a car accident at a crossroads somewhere close to where I sit now. I guess that this place was only miles from here, surrounded by small brick homes with trampolines in the backyard. There was a trailer on one corner with an old pick-up truck parked on a gravel driveway. There, I came speeding by and never paid much attention to the stop sign. The other guy hit me, jack-knifed and spinning round in circles. There, my engine caught aflame and I was burned before I could kick open the broken door. And it hurt, but my pain faded as my spirit wafted up into the air. There, floating gently above, I thought of you.
Simultaneously, you fell to your knees in a strange and sudden bout of pain. Your attempts to call for help could not be heard because you were far from home. There in the midst of the forest by the lake, you grasped the trunk of the closest tree and screamed for help. But you were alone, because you chose to be alone and no one could hear you.. Your strong will to find yourself was wrapped within your desire to become one with nature. As your breath grew rapid and the vessels in your head burst, no one could hear those sounds, those dying sounds that escaped as you drifted up above. Could it be that you looked down and saw yourself lying oddly against the pine and the edge of the Mississippi mud. You noticed how strange you looked and your desire to adjust yourself was be unbearable. But then you thought of me, and turned toward the treeline.
And it was done, you see. As we dreamt it would be, we passed from this life to the next. Things looked different and yet the same. No, they cannot hear us and no we have no solid form. Every now and then for giggles, we pretend we have bodies that wrap round each other and pull each other close. But for the most part, we are vapor. We are dead and yet, we still cannot seem to hold onto something that was just a dream. No matter how many times our transparency tries to pull together, we find that we are still dreaming.
The path is there, untouched, the hands of the clock have not moved and yet, we are lost to each other.
