Today I occupy myself with the sound of wind chimes outside. Today I woke up and my bed shook into fragments underneath me. Today and tonight are the same to me and I spent both having dreams about you. I did not mean to do this, so in other words, the dreams had me. I dreamt of touching you and then you leaving and then of searching for you among all of the people we had yet to meet together. Then I dreamt of flags pulling at themselves, of a sleepless house with no one inside but a record playing voices long gone, a piano’s whir long translated. There is a kindness in emptiness, an admission. You can do anything with heartbreak, so I dreamt of the Great Wall. I dreamt of canals and the soles of our feet and the entryway of God. That is to say, the things that stand between us also somehow lead me to you, in some great surrogate world. Gatwood writes, The boy tells me who he is, and I listen. I’m not sure how much you can actually hear in dreams. When you told me that a train was passing by and that your voice over the phone would blur for a second, I wanted to be there, experience the same physics for a moment, to feel like I could keep up with the world you were creating. I can’t have you the way I want to have you. But I hover here now and I count the things I own. My hands, folding under earth and the buttons of my dress. The blanket of time spread across bookshelves and windows and museum walls. Or how, when I divide certain numbers, the expectation of something to be a decimal when it’s really a whole number. How do we know how much of something to preserve? I could never abandon a house such as this, thorough and purple and speckled in my memory. Because if something has weight, it can always move. Because you can look at something and watch it shift, ocean hanging over ocean.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Veronica Beatrice Walton is an educator and graduate student from the New York metropolitan area and an alumna of Bryn Mawr College. Her work is published or forthcoming in Little Stone and Eponym. Find her on Instagram @bildungswalton or at theimpulsepurchase.blogspot.com.