Yesterday Refused to Die

Last night,
something slipped a letter beneath my pillow.

I knew it came for me
because my name was written
in handwriting I no longer remember.

The words were moving.

Not slowly,

they crawled across the paper
like frightened insects
trying to escape.

I carried the letter outside.

The wind was waiting.

I asked it to read the message,
but it only laughed
through the dead trees.

Then I saw the door.

Black.

Standing alone
in the middle of the road.

No walls.
No house.
No reason.

I opened it.

Inside was my childhood bedroom,

but everything was covered in dust
and something had been breathing
behind the curtains.

There was a chair beside the window.

Someone was sitting there.

I could not see their face.

They knew my name.

They knew every secret
I had buried.

They knew the people
I had forgiven
and the ones
I had only pretended to forgive.

I stepped backward.

The figure smiled.

Then my childhood
walked past the window,

older than I am now,

carrying a basket
filled with dead blue flowers.

I called out.

It did not turn around.

Above the house,
the moon began to bleed into the clouds,

and the stars disappeared
one by one,

as if something enormous
was swallowing the night.

I looked down.

My shadow was gone.

The figure behind the curtain
stood up.

"Don't be afraid,"
it whispered.

"But you already left me here once."

Morning came.

But I had the thoughts of Yesterday...

I looked arround

The door had disappeared.

The house was gone.

The road was empty.

Only the letter remained
in my hand.

The words had stopped moving.

There was only one sentence left:

You were never dreaming.