Dear Aphrodite,

 

I wonder what she dreamt about.

I wonder, if it was of a monster she couldn’t escape.

Or some inevitable truth she couldn’t ignore in the prison of her dreams.

Maybe she was trying to move on, but walked in place

because her will power did not think in sync with her feet.

And in your mind that has gravity on your reality.

Maybe she was running down a long hallway

looking for the way out.

But kept ending up right back where she started, standing in front of a blank whiteboard.

 

I couldn’t help from the outside.

So I brushed her delicate arm in the pale darkness of the early morning,

so maybe,

just maybe, she could feel that she was alone in that prison,

but not in the world.

Then her fear evaporated in the night.

She lay with a smile warming the crisp dew of the morning

and a giggle subconsciously.

Probably her message in a bottle from the inside

to let me know that she knew.

 

Now I wonder what padded the inside of that prison.

Did she fill it with white wine and family,

to remind herself what safety was?

Was it a memory of us on a drive with one too many bad puns

and just the right amount of Friday night lights and laid back music?

I don’t know. I may never know.

But I’ll always know the sound of her laughter ringing out

into the early morning.

Like the sweet honey of the perfect alarm.

 

 

Love Always,

                 Atlas