passenger seat witness

before another day I dream. driven by a former friend I am passenger seat witness to one crash after another. I wake into the dark and quiet of my room, mouth dry and sweating through one side of the bed. not so long ago you would have asked how I’d slept and if I’d dreamt. I did but you don’t and so dreams pass as clouds: aimless, unremarkable, washed away with soap and yesterday’s growth into the sink. I miss hearing yours. I still miss you all the time.