ktsait

I'm a digital strategist, brand planner, writer.

Novel ideas are my playground.

Meet digital me at katherineablan.com
Check out the3six5.posterous.com A different author, every day of the year.  My post is below for February 13, 2012. ——— I woke up this morning having dreamt of an old lover. You know, that in dreams, humans don’t create new faces. The anonymous people who appear while we sleep, every villain, every hero, every conquest, every beggar is made of faces that we’ve seen before: the woman on the el with the screaming baby, the first love lost, the clerk at the bank. We have this nature, you see, to never let people go. In our waking hours we divorce ourselves from those around us, those that hurt us, those that have become common place fixtures in our lives, those that ask for a quarter jingling a maimed paper cup. We keep a healthy distance. We do this, I think, because we fear looking into the sun, the real warmth and power and wonder of human connection and probably more so the devastation after the supernova and all has gone cold and still and silent. I have lost; I have lost big. I have lost an infant brother. I have lost trusted lovers. You, too, have lost. You have lost big. You have lost your mother/father/grandmother/bestfriend/firstlove/bestlayofyourlife/coworker/favoritewaitressatthediner. We had them torn from us. We’ve chased them away. We’ve not noticed as they’ve drifted into the ether. But you and I, just as we rebel against closeness in the daytime, we rebel against loss as we sleep. We keep these people, regardless of whether we want to. It’s our indisputable nature. We store them away to use as a cast of characters when our minds are alive and weaving fables in the night. Tonight, I will see the new man in my life. He is brilliant and smiles crookedly and smells of flowers in cellophane. And as I go to put on my coat and leave the office, I have a thought. Maybe some day, I will see him, long after we’ve parted ways. He’ll come to me in the night when my mind has taken the pieces of my waking life and has smashed them into bits, rearranging them in odd landscapes and jagged stories.

Check out the3six5.posterous.com

A different author, every day of the year. 

My post is below for February 13, 2012.

———

I woke up this morning having dreamt of an old lover.

You know, that in dreams, humans don’t create new faces.

The anonymous people who appear while we sleep, every villain, every hero, every conquest, every beggar is made of faces that we’ve seen before: the woman on the el with the screaming baby, the first love lost, the clerk at the bank.

We have this nature, you see, to never let people go.

In our waking hours we divorce ourselves from those around us, those that hurt us, those that have become common place fixtures in our lives, those that ask for a quarter jingling a maimed paper cup. We keep a healthy distance. We do this, I think, because we fear looking into the sun, the real warmth and power and wonder of human connection and probably more so the devastation after the supernova and all has gone cold and still and silent.

I have lost; I have lost big. I have lost an infant brother. I have lost trusted lovers.

You, too, have lost. You have lost big. You have lost your mother/father/grandmother/bestfriend/firstlove/bestlayofyourlife/coworker/favoritewaitressatthediner.

We had them torn from us. We’ve chased them away. We’ve not noticed as they’ve drifted into the ether.

But you and I, just as we rebel against closeness in the daytime, we rebel against loss as we sleep. We keep these people, regardless of whether we want to. It’s our indisputable nature. We store them away to use as a cast of characters when our minds are alive and weaving fables in the night.

Tonight, I will see the new man in my life. He is brilliant and smiles crookedly and smells of flowers in cellophane. And as I go to put on my coat and leave the office, I have a thought.

Maybe some day, I will see him, long after we’ve parted ways. He’ll come to me in the night when my mind has taken the pieces of my waking life and has smashed them into bits, rearranging them in odd landscapes and jagged stories.

  1. ktsait posted this