This morning I was dreaming I was visiting my Former Interest who was living in a massive and ancient green house with three floors. Each floor decreased in size as I ascended.
It was a fascinating place.
The first floor was filled with exotic and neglected succulents. The light there shifted from dim to inky. I stared at a tray of odd cacti with rotting yellow flowers.
It was night but I brought light with me and each room made TV light when I entered. Glossy. Water color-ish. Swimming, fluid, light.
He was in his lair on the top floor and when I saw him I wondered why I had thought I had ever wanted him, this broken man who was terrified to be alone.
This man intent on harming anyone who came close. This damaged man with his horrifying secrets that he revealed then threatened me if I told them.
The malignant weight of the secrets that decreased with each telling. His seared life was really just a prolonged scream. I knew his secrets.
A woman was in the room with him. She feigned intense sexual excitement whenever he touched her. She looked exhausted from the deceit.
Just a frame of a house, glass walls, steel stairs.
Maybe it was just windows. Metal frames and jambs. Starlight smeared on the murky glass windows.
Windows with no views.
The light I brought was me.
Where's the door in this damned place, I asked him.
The air was putrid with rot.
Do you think you can get out, he asked.
Both angry and resentful.
His fake girl kept screaming.
I'm dying, he said.
I know, I said. I am sorry for you but I'm not staying with you.
A dream of neglect, death, and human decay, as I cultivated an indoor garden for the winter.
He did die a few weeks after this dream.
The last time I saw him his face was paper white.
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