Cigarette Daydream (Tribute)

This is a story about a dream I want to have. Sometime ago I stopped being able dream, so this is my wishful thinking taking life, I suppose.

This white stork woke me out of my comatose.

I noticed his long beak between my curtain and my window.

Somehow he was calling to me.

I walked to where he'd been perched on the rusty, orange metal outside my window.

He'd already vanished, and where he was a few seconds ago, sat a white envelope with "BELIEVE" written on the front.

I picked it up and carried it back to my bed.

It was holding my first ever plane ticket inside. "One-Way, San Diego, Ca."

I knew I wasn't dreaming when security knew me by name and frisked me to the core, literally.

I could hear melodies of her voice,

As I was flying above the world, feeling like a piece of the sky.

Her tune came through like an echo from behind "Neighborhood Radio".

Gravity brought reality back to life at exactly 5:09 PM.

The flip Side was warmer, just as I imagined.

I skated down the blue path on my cell phone.

Six hours have burned away now.

Somewhere between water fountain and smoke breaks,

I knew I was maxed out on traveling without some rest.

Starting to doze away, on my park bench cot,

A man asked to sit next to me and bum a square. 

I sat up to smoke with the friendly stranger.

He asked if I was going anywhere,

"Not before the sun rises", I told him without even noticing I had spoken until I had.

Just in time to stop the cigarette from burning a whole through my jeans.

He replied, "I'm out of money, and my bike is out of gas. I could use some sleep too, or a book to read."

I looked to my backpack, then back down at his timberland boots.

"I can give you a book to read", eye contact finally arrived. 

I could see pain in his eyes, more than I thought I was feeling for myself just that morning.

"Can I borrow your bike? I'll be back, same time tomorrow." 

I left twenty dollars on my pillow, hoping it would be spent on meals.

Last thing he told me, "The grass is always greener when there is someone to lay in it beside you."

I let the man's bike hit the ground when I could make out what the mailbox said, "70509 Desert Trail Drive".

Tripping up the front porch stairs, she opened the door to meet my eyes for the first time in months.

Sometime ago I forgot how to dream, this was a cigarette daydream and I'm still staring out of window.

Author's Note

I never missed anything the way I miss Juls these days.