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Things Left Unsaid


by Kim Conklin


I wish I had told you this story. When you died, there were so many things left unsaid.

There is much that feels like someone else's life. So much time was wasted waiting for my life to begin.

Waking hours were sleepwalking. Reality only pierced the fog in my dreams.

About a year before you died, I dreamt I was standing alone on a dark corner under a streetlamp. There was nothing as far as the eye could see.

A bus pulled up. He was driving. He waved angrily for me to hurry and embark.

Reluctantly, I got on and sat beside him. The seats behind us rose in a theatre formation. They were empty. The house lights were on.

He drove down the deserted freeway like a maniac. The billboards flashed rolling computer codes. We passed too quickly to be able to read them.

I knew I was on the wrong bus, but jumping off was a death sentence. I was afraid, but by then I was used to that.

That's where the dream ended, barreling down a dark freeway on an empty bus, trapped with a driver full of anger and hate, no signs to guide the way.

I woke up next to him. I never told you. Anything.

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I wish I had told you this story.

When you died, there were

so many things

left unsaid.

There is much

that feels like

someone else's life.

So much time wasted

waiting for my life

to begin.

Waking hours

were sleepwalking.

Reality

only pierced the fog

in my dreams.

 

About a year

before you died,

I dreamt I was

standing alone

on a dark corner

under a streetlamp.

There was nothing

as far as the eye could see.

A bus pulled up.

He was driving. He waved angrily

for me to hurry and embark.

 

Reluctantly, I got sat beside him.

The seats behind us rose

in a theatre formation.

They were empty, the

house lights were on.

 

He drove down the deserted freeway

like a maniac. The billboards

flashed rolling computer codes.

We passed too quickly to read them.

I was on the wrong bus

but jumping off

was a death sentence.

I was afraid, but by then

I was used to that.

 

That's where the dream ended, 

barreling down a dark freeway 

on an empty bus,

trapped with a driver full of anger and hate,

no signs to guide the way.

 

I woke up next to him.

I never told you. Anything.

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