Dear sister

Dear sister,

I dreamt last night of your old Ford Fiesta. Silver.

Back in the days when we had no responsibilities

And we cruised around bowling alleys

And theme parks

And towns where we'd park up against the pavement

And wind down the windows

And blast the jarring chords of The Phantom of the Opera

Top volume

Straight-faced

Looking ever forward -

To freak out a stranger.

In the depths of my dream we shrieked and cackled

Through fits of laughter

And the clumsy clip-clop of heels on cobbles echoed across the streets;

There was always a dress to impress.

We sipped on a colourful swirl of cocktails to pass an afternoon

That melted into bottles of wine on hazy summer nights,

Sucking on cigarette after cigarette after cigarette.

And only small things mattered.

Consequences were minor

And the things we thought we cared about

Were nonsense.

Strange now to be taken back to that time

When life glided over us like water over a smooth pebble;

No weight pulling us beneath the endless cascades.

Just fun and the lingering buzz of boredom -

Not the bad kind, the what shall we do next? kind.

Now those days seem foreign:

A dreamscape vaguely familiar

And entirely comforting.

And from this dream I wished not to wake up.

As consciousness slipped slowly through the cracks of my mind,

I felt myself ache to hold on to that intoxicating feeling of lightness,

Just a few moments longer.