Happy Place

It’s a wall.

I’m phasing through.

.

Brisk air

brushes me

into my memories.

I am no longer here.

.

What is really in front of me

is a cloud.

A blockage of white.

I superimpose

the images

onto the cloud like a screen.

.

There is no soda or popcorn,

but I consume the view.

.

~

.

Before this I had this

misty memory,

I used to drift off

when the sun hit

on an expanse of picnic grass.

.

The memory daydream

was good and warm,

until the end.

At the end,

the good warmth

burned everyone in the picture

beyond recognition.

.

I tried to use the unburned

parts

as an escape,

but

even though I worked hard

to snip off the end,

the sun-soaked memory

became faded and useless

with the passage of time.

.

~

.

What is really in front of me

now

is a cloud.

A blockage of white.

.

I breath the air in and out.

.

I phase out of reality

and into dream.

I am happy here.

.

~

.

As the mist ends,

the wall ends,

and I pass out of

my memory world.

 

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