Hope - Kate Bueler

As I go to sleep I hope. I hope to sleep. Without waking up in the middle of the night. Due to an outside noise of a woot woot or fight or catcall or love singing against reverberating against my sidewalk. My windows shake from the bass of the car as I try to hope to nap. It used to be the waves of the J church but now down more one street these are my new neighbors of sound.I hope for sleep in succession of 6 hours or more. When I wake up to a noise. A noise I sometimes am startled. Where am I? What was that? What should I do? Hyper-vigilance doesn’t sleep and I wish it would. Would go to bed and allow me to dream. Dreams.

My dreams are either so boring I forget or so interesting I can’t help but remember. Last night I dreamt of seeing me my most recent x boyfriend. He was in a store behind the check out (even though his work is a bar) and he was asking for a favor and for me to listen as he always did and does and just recently stopped. Except when we talk I do most of the listening and he does the talking. And I think he might have stopped asking about me. He might not ever asked. So he asked me for something and as I paused. To think if I could do it. He transformed into an old x boyfriend who in my early 20s I thought I would marry. You think a lot of things when you are young. He started to get angry and rude. And I just walked away. And as I walked away I knew in my dream I would never see him again ever. It was done. Part of me wanted him to run after me. But the other part was glad he didn’t. He didn’t. When people change identities in dreams sometimes it is so clear and translucent you can’t help but see through. See through the dream into yourself. Yourself.

I don’t just dream of endings I dream of first kisses with crushes. And once we kiss, kissed in that dream. We started laughing because he had lettuce in his mouth. Lettuce in his mouth and he wasn’t even eating. I had seen good will hunting a week earlier and there is a similar scene but still. And then there was another when he the same man wrestled with me. And would hold me close and embrace me but never did he kiss me. Never kiss me upon my lips. But he held me in a way; in a way that when I woke up I wished it was real. Real. See this man never did kiss me or hold me. But somehow not just in the dreams he warmed me. Warmed me up my coffee cup spilling over as I try to balance across the room to meet him. I spill. He laughs. In dreams. In real life. I hope. I hope for more. For more dreaming. For more sleeping. For more spilling. I hope for more.