The Air

The air smells like school this morning.  It makes me think of when I had to walk through the wet grass to get to the bus stop.  I go back and forth on whether or not I would want to go back to being young. 

Talking Heads

I had a dream that I burned down the house.  Not the one I live in but a fake one only made up in my dream.  It was, for some reason, something that needed to be done.  I put dynamite in a potted tree and lit it in the house.  Afterward I watched things slowly ripple into flames.  I remember feeling scared but satisfied.  Somehow the house turned into a forest and I remembered I needed to save the cats.  I ran through heated waves of air and scooped both of them into my arms.  They made it out successfully.  I grabbed pictures of my mother and some old books. I grabbed my father's old hat and some socks.  As everyone gathered around to see I realized there was no way to recover everything that was in flames.  I could not bring myself to weep over the lost objects in my life.  When the fire was over everyone was in production.  We were making business and food and trying to reproduce some form of life that we had before. When I woke up I realized I missed the ocean again.  As for you I realized you were in the house.