I Dreamt of You, My Love

365 Days of Creativity

day sixty two

Last night I went to a movie theater. But instead of rows of seats, there were descending levels of floors which each held a few round tables.

I wore a dress, the purpose of which was debatable. For the fabric clung and swung, so fluid that it seemed like water. It was translucent too. The skirt floated, seeming to flow on the air itself, not wanting to lay still.

There was a movie playing, something bright. But there was a stage in front of the screen, and actors were replicating their own actions from the film.

I descended into the room, level by level. My feet were bare, and the rich red carpet sunk where I stepped. It folded around my heels, kissed the soles of my feet.

The place was full of people and trails of smoke. Everyone moved slowly, with leaden, lucid movements like mollasses. Men laughed and uttered great growls as they grabbed their dates, of which there were sometimes two or three.

The women were illustriously decorated with glitter and ice. Dangling earrings like mock chandeliers, cascading necklaces which shimmered like the morning sun fractured through a silken spider web. The women tossed their curls back and laughed, teeth like pearls and skin like cream. 

Men and women chattered carelessly, while their lips didn't move. A hundred laughs tinkled like chimes in the wind.

Pillars of smoke twirled upwards from the tables. Snakes of grey and stone, twisting from the ends of coolly held cigarettes. The trails were so nearly motionless, they seemed like solid things, real reptiles which slowly undulated around a lady's wrist or a glass of scotch.

I reached the third tier down, and I recognized a face. Then another. There was a table with four people and an empty chair which could have only been meant for me. I approached the table, receiving pleasant greetings and warm welcomes. There were two men on the right, one woman on the left, and behind her, a hidden figure.

I leaned onto the back of the empty chair. My hair was piled high, but a stray lock fell onto my shoulder. The silken tendril traced a crescent on my collarbone.

A delicate chain fell from the low cut of my bodice. It swung forward and I caught a glimpse of a coin strung from the silver. On it, a man stands as a savior to a young boy, and the words above the depiction read "Saint Christopher Be My Guide".

At this moment, the movie screen burned white, and the coin around my neck spun. The light from the screen reflected off of the surface of the pendant. The woman on the left leaned back, and the redirected rays reveal the person behind her. The most flawless face in existence, with every shadow thrown back by the illumination. The beam of light delivers a golden glow. Haloed and heavenly, the angel looked at me, and my heart exploded into a thousand blissful pieces. This person, this figure, this ethereally framed statuette was you. And your beauty broke my heart.