I never really ever forget about anyone. As I get older and the flux of people in my life fills my senses, I will find my mind quietly coming back to old friends who I have lost touch with in my dreams. Sometimes they are shaded in other people’s skins, they meet me with borrowed features, but under the layers I can see them. It would be an exaggeration to say that they are haunting me, but they are unfinished in some capacity, a bare line drawing. I wonder under what circumstances we may meet again.
They are the meditations of my childhood, past relatives; shallow forays into love. Sometimes they come back into my life and I am filled with their bold beauty. I am happy to see what they have become. Others have traveled to darker realms of human existence, and though my thoughts are clear of them during the day, they slip into my dreams reminding me of their struggles. Do I have some allegiance still to them, if so I have decided to let my responsibilities lag. They will stay embedded in my subconscious, but I will pray for them in my waking hours.