Thursday, August 11, 2016

To Die Dreaming (Morir Soñando)

Hola Everybody,
I wrote the following a while back. It’s part of an unfinished short story that tracks the travels of two lovers. Morir Soñando is also a Dominican refreshment. In any case, I have a funny relationship to my dreams (none of which I ever remember) and I can say I write while dreaming... 

Morir Soñando

Dreaming men are haunted men.
-- Stephen Vincent Benet

… The thought of her beauty awakens me sometimes, from the middle of dreams I can’t remember. It’s not the image of her face, the softness of her skin, but just the sudden awareness of her total beauty -- that first strike before any of the details become clear -- that jolts me awake and leaves me longing on the broken shoals of my bed.

For a brief moment, I’m upset she’s not here with me, but the anger gradually subsides into longing, and I stand and pace, haunting the darkness of my room, thinking of possibilities. Gradually, I come to the awareness that there’s no reason for anger, only choices. I ponder all this for what seems like hours and it’s the thought of her beauty that makes me lie back on my bed, weighing me down so that I plummet through the thin fabric of wake and sleep and drown in the middle of dreams I don’t remember…

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

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