Stupid Questions

Reality (Future)

“I don’t know if you remember…”

He went on to describe a conversation placed in the core of our collective memory. He acted like we both didn’t know in that moment that the moment we were living in, in that version of the present, would be cataloged and used in future references because it did such a damn good job of summing us up.

The weird part was I had never forgotten, but I had only just remembered-it had only recently resurfaced to the forefront of my gloomy glowing mind.

I paused in thought while I wrapped my feet around a stool.  Does he remember that night and does he remember it as I do(?) I usually I recall this memory as being gooey, but other times shame attaches itself to it.

Our time too short, we made every drink a double and we introduced our intellects to one another through the way we let seven letter words for ******* slip through the gaps of our teeth.

“…?”

“What a stupid question.”

We met at a bar, and asked each other stupid questions.

Dream

I met him again at the bar, but here we were at opposite ends. And I go on and tell him I often thought about that first conversation. That how funny it was that we were back here. I said to him it was profound for me, profound like when Descartes clicks for you in Philosophy 101, but also profound because it didn’t just feel like a man and a woman at a bar connecting on that never-thought-I’d-ever-meet-anyone-else-who-is-so-into-talking-about-this-shit jive; it was augmented-something new, unfamiliar, advanced .

We rejoice months later but I guess only moments or minutes later because we were in one of my dreams; we had this knowing that somewhere in the ether of it all, a part of us we thought was only ours, was shared or mirrored in another person.

We were at our bar, asking each other stupid questions.

Where do I live

Where do I live in your heart and your head?

In a tomb all cased up you won’t open again?20170912_171419.jpg

Or do I reside in a garden of neurons that blossom and grow all over the brain, that migrate for Winter to a warmer, throbbing space. One that carries my memory to the rest of your muddled cells. On a 98.6 degree highway of route 66 veins.

The Return

In that funny liminal space between awake and asleep I tuned in to the tail end of our time together with ease. Like when your favorite movie is on TV and you know you’ve missed almost all of it, but you keep it on anyway. No need to change the channel.

I didn’t know how we got to this part of the movie though…it was as if I completely forgotten the scene before.