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Description
One
Today they ask me where I’m from.
What my name is.
Why I’m here.
I don’t speak a word to them,
                        I’m overcome with fear.

I dream I’m in the darkness,
Forever running,
                        But never moving.
            I put one foot in front of the other
And remain stationary, solitary. . . I stand alone.

Two
They say I must remember.
That I can’t have just appeared from nowhere.
But my mind is an empty slate,
Something dead and forgotten,
Non-existent in this space.

Tonight I’m still running,
It’s still dark.
I’m still alone.
But you’re here, whoever you are.
Following me, chasing me.
Or maybe you’re a part of me.

Three
They won’t let me go, they say.
I don’t argue, I don’t have somewhere to be.
No one has come to claim me.
Maybe I never really did belong to anyone.

This night I start to think.
I have a reason to be running.
I know I’m scared, but not of being caught.
I’m scared of losing something.
Of losing you.

Four
Today they walk me outside.
It’s like my dream.
We walk and walk and walk,
But never really get anywhere.
The people around me don’t change,
The buildings all look the same,
And the sky is endless in its blue.
I don’t know who you are, but it reminds me of you.

The darkness is gone this time.
A bubble of light engulfs me.
This time I’m tired.
My breath is ragged and cut off,
You weigh me down.
When I can’t run, I fall,
But the anticipated pain of impact never comes.
The ground is covered in grass.
It’s dry and withering.
But its here, it’s real.

Five
They ask me about my dreams.
They think they mean something.
That I’m running home, to somewhere I belong.
We walk again, but this time everything turns to questions.
“Does this seem familiar? Have you seen this?”
No. . . no. . . nothing here is the same.
Except the girl on the poster board, labeled missing.
But it’s only because she’s me.
I’m that girl.
Missing.

Tonight is harder.
I’m carrying something.
It’s heavy, and as much as I want to drop it, I know it would break.
I can’t let it go, I care for it.
It rests its head against my back.
It grows cold.
When I can’t run anymore tonight I don’t collapse.
I stand in the middle of the field,
Red brown grass tickling my feet.
I hold you against me and look at the sky.
It’s too pale; I don’t think you would have liked it.

Six
This time there’s a car.
They say I might not be from here,
That maybe I came from somewhere far away.
I know they can’t take me everywhere,
There are too many places in this world that I could’ve belonged to.
We pass the ocean.
It’s surrounded by red grass, my dream grass.
Is this where I belong?

Tonight the grass ends.
Instead the sand squishes between my toes.
It’s soft and hard to run through.
It weighs me more down than you do.
Tonight when I stop to catch my breath,
I see that there’s a moon hanging in the starless sky.
It casts its shadow over me, instead reflecting it’s light across the water.
I think my dreams are slowly ending,
Our time together, slowly ending.

Seven
I tell them about the sea.
How I think that’s where I came from.
They seem worried.
You can’t be from the sea, you’re not a fish, they try to tell me.
But I can’t remember anything else.
The water and the beach is sometimes the only thing I think is real.
Maybe this place covered in white is the real dream.

The moon sinks beneath the horizon,
And the little rays of sun creep up.
They taint the midnight blue of the sky,
Dusting it with a deep red.
It reminds me of blood,
Which reminds me of you.
Suddenly I think I hear you breathe.
Who are you?

Eight
Today we walk across the beach,
Although it doesn’t feel the same.
I hear the birds mocking calls and wind against my face.
It’s surreal, to finally be here.
But there are no answers in the crashing blue waves,
Only more questions.
I lock my hands behind my back and breathe the salty air in.
The sky is even worse now, pale grey like a storm is coming.
I think we used to like the clouds, you and me.
Didn’t we make shapes out of them and lay in the grass to see them clearly?
Is it all in my head, we you even here?
I ask the questions to the sky, but you don’t answer.

I think its water,
The coldness dripping down my back.
But its too heavy, too thick. . . too red.
I talk to you tonight, pouring my soul into the little figure that is you.
You murmur answers back, but I can’t hear.
The wind devours your words before they reach my ears.
The only thing I know is the ocean, you are to be brought to the ocean.

Nine
We walk again, but nothing happens.
It is clear that you are not here anymore.
Did you ever make it to the ocean, or did I fail you.

They end tonight, the dreams.
We run and run and the beach ends.
The water stings my feet, it seeps into the blisters that I’ve gained.
We fall together, crashing into the water.
Your chest barely moves anymore, eyes almost closed.
The sun is up today, burning heat covers us like a blanket.
You open your eyes once more.
“It’s beautiful. . . Thank you.”
Then you’re gone.

Ten
My name is Alice, they tell me.
I am 14 years old and all alone.
My father is overseas and mother is searching for me.
“Who was she,” I ask. “The girl from my dreams”.
They say I had a twin sister.
A version of me that was sick. Little. Frail.
They say she went missing the day I did too.
That we left with our mother on a trip to the beach.
That’s all that my sister had wanted, to see the ocean.
It was such a little wish.
But mother left us momentarily and she got sick.
  I carried her to the beach, where we were both swept away.
“I don’t remember,” I say. “This can’t be true.”
But in my heart I know it is, you’ve left me to become one with the ocean blue.

Description
One
Today they ask me where I’m from.
What my name is.
Why I’m here.
I don’t speak a word to them,
                        I’m overcome with fear.

I dream I’m in the darkness,
Forever running,
                        But never moving.
            I put one foot in front of the other
And remain stationary, solitary. . . I stand alone.

Two
They say I must remember.
That I can’t have just appeared from nowhere.
But my mind is an empty slate,
Something dead and forgotten,
Non-existent in this space.

Tonight I’m still running,
It’s still dark.
I’m still alone.
But you’re here, whoever you are.
Following me, chasing me.
Or maybe you’re a part of me.

Three
They won’t let me go, they say.
I don’t argue, I don’t have somewhere to be.
No one has come to claim me.
Maybe I never really did belong to anyone.

This night I start to think.
I have a reason to be running.
I know I’m scared, but not of being caught.
I’m scared of losing something.
Of losing you.

Four
Today they walk me outside.
It’s like my dream.
We walk and walk and walk,
But never really get anywhere.
The people around me don’t change,
The buildings all look the same,
And the sky is endless in its blue.
I don’t know who you are, but it reminds me of you.

The darkness is gone this time.
A bubble of light engulfs me.
This time I’m tired.
My breath is ragged and cut off,
You weigh me down.
When I can’t run, I fall,
But the anticipated pain of impact never comes.
The ground is covered in grass.
It’s dry and withering.
But its here, it’s real.

Five
They ask me about my dreams.
They think they mean something.
That I’m running home, to somewhere I belong.
We walk again, but this time everything turns to questions.
“Does this seem familiar? Have you seen this?”
No. . . no. . . nothing here is the same.
Except the girl on the poster board, labeled missing.
But it’s only because she’s me.
I’m that girl.
Missing.

Tonight is harder.
I’m carrying something.
It’s heavy, and as much as I want to drop it, I know it would break.
I can’t let it go, I care for it.
It rests its head against my back.
It grows cold.
When I can’t run anymore tonight I don’t collapse.
I stand in the middle of the field,
Red brown grass tickling my feet.
I hold you against me and look at the sky.
It’s too pale; I don’t think you would have liked it.

Six
This time there’s a car.
They say I might not be from here,
That maybe I came from somewhere far away.
I know they can’t take me everywhere,
There are too many places in this world that I could’ve belonged to.
We pass the ocean.
It’s surrounded by red grass, my dream grass.
Is this where I belong?

Tonight the grass ends.
Instead the sand squishes between my toes.
It’s soft and hard to run through.
It weighs me more down than you do.
Tonight when I stop to catch my breath,
I see that there’s a moon hanging in the starless sky.
It casts its shadow over me, instead reflecting it’s light across the water.
I think my dreams are slowly ending,
Our time together, slowly ending.

Seven
I tell them about the sea.
How I think that’s where I came from.
They seem worried.
You can’t be from the sea, you’re not a fish, they try to tell me.
But I can’t remember anything else.
The water and the beach is sometimes the only thing I think is real.
Maybe this place covered in white is the real dream.

The moon sinks beneath the horizon,
And the little rays of sun creep up.
They taint the midnight blue of the sky,
Dusting it with a deep red.
It reminds me of blood,
Which reminds me of you.
Suddenly I think I hear you breathe.
Who are you?

Eight
Today we walk across the beach,
Although it doesn’t feel the same.
I hear the birds mocking calls and wind against my face.
It’s surreal, to finally be here.
But there are no answers in the crashing blue waves,
Only more questions.
I lock my hands behind my back and breathe the salty air in.
The sky is even worse now, pale grey like a storm is coming.
I think we used to like the clouds, you and me.
Didn’t we make shapes out of them and lay in the grass to see them clearly?
Is it all in my head, we you even here?
I ask the questions to the sky, but you don’t answer.

I think its water,
The coldness dripping down my back.
But its too heavy, too thick. . . too red.
I talk to you tonight, pouring my soul into the little figure that is you.
You murmur answers back, but I can’t hear.
The wind devours your words before they reach my ears.
The only thing I know is the ocean, you are to be brought to the ocean.

Nine
We walk again, but nothing happens.
It is clear that you are not here anymore.
Did you ever make it to the ocean, or did I fail you.

They end tonight, the dreams.
We run and run and the beach ends.
The water stings my feet, it seeps into the blisters that I’ve gained.
We fall together, crashing into the water.
Your chest barely moves anymore, eyes almost closed.
The sun is up today, burning heat covers us like a blanket.
You open your eyes once more.
“It’s beautiful. . . Thank you.”
Then you’re gone.

Ten
My name is Alice, they tell me.
I am 14 years old and all alone.
My father is overseas and mother is searching for me.
“Who was she,” I ask. “The girl from my dreams”.
They say I had a twin sister.
A version of me that was sick. Little. Frail.
They say she went missing the day I did too.
That we left with our mother on a trip to the beach.
That’s all that my sister had wanted, to see the ocean.
It was such a little wish.
But mother left us momentarily and she got sick.
  I carried her to the beach, where we were both swept away.
“I don’t remember,” I say. “This can’t be true.”
But in my heart I know it is, you’ve left me to become one with the ocean blue.