Gravel Pit.

You didn't want me, you made that painfully clear. I was not enough.

But yet, here you are, interrupting my slumber with your little fantasy worlds, where we're together again, ever so briefly. 

You're grabbing my hand and we're running away from a room with a lit TV screen, guitars on the wall, blinking soft blue & purple lights, a game of some sort playing in the background. Your father is in the adjoining room, listening to Tool, as he often does. There's an open balcony door, and the breeze is pulling the curtains outside as you swiftly lead me down the stairs. There's a sense of urgency, of danger, as if we might be caught, first by an older adult, but then by something much, much more daunting.

We end up in a gravel pitted lot, weeds coming up through the cracks, chainlink fences bordering the space. The stars are especially bright, but all you can focus on is me before you say, "stay right here," and kiss me as if the world is ending, and in that moment, it feels as it if is. 

We lock eyes one last time, and for once yours don't look so sleepy and relaxed, they look determined and serious. The wind picks up, tousling your hair about effortlessly before you disappear back into the shadows, and I do, I do stay. But you never return, no matter how long I look back up through that balcony window at those softly blinking lights. And for all of my lucid dream experience, I cannot get my stupid feet to just move to go find you, or to summon you back here on this horrible rocky ground to just lay with me and tell me it'll all be alright.