Two nightmares.

In the first we are overwhelmed by order. The house erupts from a sunny hillside and I say, “Come with me, this is mine.” With each successive room full of carefully arranged treasures you become more upset. Finally we come to a warehouse where I manufacture love and offer to give you some. You flit away in a rage, yelling, your legs like wings in the sky of my mind’s eye.

In the second chaos separates us. I mean guns and ammunition. I am a crack shot, clawing his way through the firefight while you sit atop a staircase, safeguarding a bomb which I am fairly certain is my heart. When finally I reach you, it has exploded, and you are gone.