Incursion.org > Richard di Santo > Waking

waking, a dream slowly fading from my eyes, I began to form an impression of the ceiling, with its vast, undisturbed expanse of white, and just below it, the wall with the window, and the curtain hanging heavily across a thin metal bar, the sunlight shining delicately through its off-white fibres, still out of focus, as I awoke under wrinkled sheets, in that room which is found, as you enter the house, to the left of a narrow hallway leading to the living room, and then the kitchen with its small table, where you were sitting with a book in your hands, your fingers teasing the pages as you read, your thoughts slowly drifting, so distant in those moments, though no one could have told me where your thoughts were moving, over what lands or city streets, I could never guess that when I stood before you your eyes gazed right through me, that I was absent and present all at once, my thoughts slowly drifting as I was sitting at the table, my fingers teasing the pages as I read, and you asleep in the bedroom on the other side of the hallway, or perhaps you were already awake, your sleepy eyes trying to make sense of the things around you, the ceiling with its large fan, disturbing its otherwise vast expanse of white, and just below it, the wall with the window, and the curtain, but my thoughts were already moving from room to room, they slipped through the open window in the kitchen, then crossed over rivers, lakes and oceans, and in my dreams too, I could feel myself moving, my dream slowly fading from my eyes, straining to focus on the objects in the room around me, the wardrobe to my right, the door, and the small table by the bed, my dream in which I was drifting, over rivers, lakes and oceans, to that room where I was sitting at a small kitchen table, an open book in my hands, my fingers teasing the wrinkled sheets on the bed, my thoughts and movements converging with those of another, absent and present all at once, a dream slowly fading from my eyes, your expression, the book, the hallway, the wall with the window, my fingers, the sunlight and the curtain

© 2003, Richard di Santo