something more beautiful than is there

in dreams sometimes i still live in the city, waiting on the platform for the train, snow falling and music swirling into my ears. i live in that place i saw once with the attic loft that no one wanted, a ladder to climb from the apartment i hoped to rent up into that space. i felt like a kid when i climbed up there, painting images of how it would be in the back of my mind, like i would do when my mother and i would haunt open houses in the late seventies. we would both pretend this was home, and set up where everything would go, and imagine up how we would re-create ourselves within the new walls. in dreams sometimes i never left the city, instead i only left him. and the kids and i, we lived in that place and painted the attic room in multi-colors, and played music late into the night because no one would hear it up there, except for the stars. and, you would not keep writing screwed up things about me, plastering them up to show you as some kind of wounded artist; you would not have to because we would hardly have known each other, not in this ugly way, at least. you would still look back at us as something bittersweet, yet beautiful; and i would look back on it as a lesson learned from someone kind, and not have to fight off the urge to lash back at you.in dreams sometimes there are no clocks, or schedules, or places i have to be. elliott smith is still alive, and they never cancelled my so-called life. and my heart, it is all healed up and i no longer fall in love with men who can never truly be mine. i have friends and music, and my beautiful children, and an on-occasion lover who left behind no drama or rough feelings. in that reality, my sometimes dreamscape, there is no such thing as love. or, maybe i have that wrong, perhaps everything is love - but none of it complicated or tangled up in knots; it is just peace and paths that lead only to bliss.lucy.