drawing from the well

what joy can be drawn from the well of dreams. waiting nervous outside a party by the curb, dawdling just beyond the path down to the beach that raised me. I start to shake a little. my parents are reluctant to leave me to venture alone like this. a colleague finds me at the mouth of the path and I follow his lead into the shadows down the cracked sandy pavement, winding closer to the flames on the beach, the murmurs of the crowd, the music.

dusk grey gives way to bright moonlight cast through mid-winter blue. my nerves shield me from the claws of the cold and I only shiver from anticipation of the chance of crossing paths with someone I've been seeing in my dreams. familiar faces in the crowd delight in passing pleasantries and offering another pour of wine. we gather in groups only to compete and celebrate, hoping to catch glimmers of our own ambitions in someone else's beauty or performance reflected back in strobes through the shine of light on bottles and white teeth. we listen to satiate the ego's cries for validation. I sense my saviour round a corner and lose what grasp I'd managed to tie to confidence despite the sweat and nerves. swift escape up the hill and ride the bike as far into the city as I can.

I stop to rest at the weathered remains of an old church or convict prison in a park I've never played in. lampposts and a well kempt lawn beyond crumbling walls in the middle of the city. an audience surrounds the pillars and I'm left with no choice but to join their ranks as actors in period costume take the stage to tell an unfamiliar story. my bike glares back at us through the sandstone arch like a time machine, turquoise frame upstaging delicate frills and old english. the congregation is enthralled by the drama, though the dialogue screams a classic we all should have been made to read at school. by time the players take their bows for our applause I've forgotten why I came and my shirt is no longer enough to ward off the cold. 

the audience disperses and I take to the stage to retrieve my bike. and then you're there - smiling and as beautiful as forgetting something sad. you saw me on the beach and left alone to find me. I don't bother asking how you knew to reach me here. there's an urge to dig a hole and have you push me in to cover up forever. but you hold me and we dance and end up as we were before. I'm warm again and there's no sense to make but I still have dreams and maybe this is more than enough.