8/2/12

Dreams of a Previous Lover
By Antonio Poaches


I seem to ask myself the same question every night before I go to sleep. When you move on, how much of you really moves on? Surely after the mind surmounts a great deal of memories, one can only question if the heart does the same. Every night I dream about the one who caused me so much pain. I dream about the happier times, the times in which at the time, I didn't think things would ever get bad. I lazily lifted my feet up to every step, trying to prolong the process of taking a shower and going to sleep. It was all but inevitable, which I knew, but still I crept up the steps and occasionally stopped to think about what would happen when I laid down. If I could write a letter to Emily, telling her to go away, I would. But, since this world is so different from the dreams in which she haunts me, telling her to go away would merely anger her. I opened the door to my room where Cecily and I slept every night. I wonder; when I toss and turn in a cold sweat, does she think of it as a nightmare? I could never ask because she would immediately know that the nightmares were all but.


"Cecily," I called out in a dry and tired voice, "dinner was good, I'll sleep well tonight."



She smiled at her accomplishment as she read a book with a bleak white cover and bold red words that caused attraction to one's eye. I slithered into the covers, and wrapped myself in a cotton cocoon as I readied myself for the dreams to visit me once more, as they did every night.



"Goodnight dear," Cecily said soft of voice.



I replied with a nod and a gentle smile, though there was nothing to smile about. She shut her light off, then I uncoiled my arm from the sheets and shut mine.



It was time. Time for the memories that I thought I conquered so long ago to come back and tease me with the bright face of an angel that I once loved. Why must I go through this every night? I ask myself; if my mind bares no feelings for her, what keeps her inside my head?



"Your heart," a voice said gently as I nodded off slowly.


I tried to lift my head, or open my eyes to see who or what was talking, but I couldn't. It laid heavily on the pillow like an anchor on the ocean floor.


"My heart, but," I muttered in a light sleep, but still aware that I was awake, "my heart has no thoughts, only my mind."



I fell deeper and deeper into a world of darkness. I felt myself losing control of my better thoughts, and slipping into a world of regret and pain where she, Emily, controlled.



Alas, as I drifted off completely, a warm, soft hand rubbed my face. Then, a kiss upon my ear; then a gentle voice.


"I love you, so much."


I could not reply, for I did not know if the voice was the voice of Emily, or Cecily. I wished to never love Emily again, so for the sake of my pride, I did not utter a sound of comfort, but one of a false deep sleep. The hands slid off of my face, leaving my cheek cold and unwanted. I realized that I could postpone this sleep no longer. I buried my face into the pillow and swallowed a large amount of air before shutting my eyes for the second life.


The sun shone brighter this morning than it had all week. I sat up, still tired, still nervous of my reply to Cecily last night. I stretched my arms out to relieve the aches in my body, then slid out of bed as quickly as I slithered in last night. I called out Cecily's name a dozen times before realizing that the carriage was gone and that the horses had been untied from their stables.


The house was silent and no longer breathing with the fumes of a warm breakfast; but quiet and encompassed with sadness. In my kitchen on the brown wooden table, I noticed a note.



Quiet lover, your dreams are too close to your reality, for Emily lies close in our world and the next. I have no doubt that you love me, but you utter her name at night and I can't help but think that somewhere, deep inside that head of yours, there are still fractured pieces of the one who hurt you. And maybe, just maybe she is the only one who can fix it, or perhaps I'm wrong. Your dreams of a previous lover have caused me to go to my sister Lenore's house. For better or worse, I love you, and I wish you your first peaceful sleep.

Your love,
Cecily

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I am a young writer, but my writing is more classic and old style. I'm currently writing a romance novel and I hope that it enhances this short story since it is the follow up. I have a patient and delicate eye for detail. My description and use of words are what define me as a writer.