By Yasmine Diaz
i dream of a lot of things
like my old friends
from first grade, sixth grade
their names the things we did
there are places i can dream of
like my grandmother’s old building
the way i loved how it looked and smelled
how i used to visit a lot, and they exist again
i think i can dream up plenty
people, places, smells and faces
it comes on randomly sometimes
when it does i wake up and remember
but i also can’t remember clearly
certain dreams come in white cold flashes
of familiar places, loved ones and comfortable smells
happy moments that i should’ve held on to
those times when i can’t recollect
make me mad because i really want to
take that dream and frame it
so i can look back on it, keep it
i think about Lucy
the abundance of memories of her
in my head before her soul bit the flame,
at first i held onto them really tight
it hurt at first but i knew it would,
to remember so clearly
what i will never have again and
what no other person can give to me
more time passes and then
the dreams begin to fade
like lighting a roll of film on fire
and it just goes until there is nothing
that also hurt but i didn’t notice
life went on, new things to remember
burning the film i wanted to keep
tiny frames of Lucy, silently burning, burning, melting, forgetting
i didn’t notice my dreams burning
until i saw a tangible framed memory
when i did i felt sour for forgetting
i scrambled to extinguish, remember,
and right now, the fire’s still glowing
i can’t remember the abundance
or where i put the leftovers
if i still have any from the fire
there’s one thing i do know
extinguishing leaves a mess
of the films, just like the fire
Lucy hated messes, i remember
to dream.
Yasmine Diaz is a writer from NYC who likes writing short fictional horror stories and sometimes, when she’s brave enough, she ventures into nonfiction and poetry. She’s interested in photography, curating playlists for each of her moods and finding art that relates to her. If Yasmine’s not writing words, she’s typing them on twitter @librarants.
