outside the walls

I had a dream I was at your house and it was raining. 

Raining in winter.  

A dark street of blues beyond a water soaked window.  

I know you picked your house based on the good, soft light 

but in the dream, 

it was all dark & sharp like dusk.  

And you whispered, 

"Some of the children are sleeping, 

let's let them sleep and go to the park."

I didn't want to go.

I wanted to stay in 

and watch the rain roll down the glass canvas. 

I didn't want to leave the comfort of the house. 

But I didn't want to seem weak so I followed you out. 

Our 2 girls beside us;  little ones left unknowingly behind, 

sleeping in a big golden bed.

I could smell their napping breath.

See their matted hair. 

Out on the street, we had a ball. 

The kind that echoes when it hits the ground. 

The girls bounced it as we traveled. 

It made a sucking noise against the wet sidewalk.

The rain was real.

It deepened the green of the grass.  

Darkened the black of the asphalt.

Bleed the red of my jacket. 

I could smell its chalkiness; taste its wet body in my mouth.  

Feel the heaviness of the color-soaked air.

But it wasn't cold like I had feared, only cool and flat.

The winter was dying.

And you were walking beside me, 

crying behind the curtain of your long hair.