When I Was Young I Had Dreams Of Light

When I was young I had memories, and these memories were from a time before I was aware that the world extended beyond my reach. I remember a voice in my head, telling me to follow. I remember warm rivers flowing through me and a heaviness in my hand as if another’s hand had been placed in mine. These are memories from before I had language—before I could translate the sensations into symbols—before I could diminish their impact on me. 

When I was older I would sometimes see, at the very edge of my periphery, a quick flash of light as if something shiny had briefly captured a beam of sunlight. But when I turned towards it there was nothing. But as time passed I would begin to notice the brief, hazy residue of what almost looked like a ribbon, a cord of light being recoiled back to its source.

And sometimes I would feel a gentle tugging at my skin just before the ribbon disappeared.

When I first saw you…

When I first saw you there was this light―trailing behind you, leaving sparkling halos and small glowing spirals like storms of phosphorescence. And all around you, everything was luminous. All around you the world glowed and danced. 

In the faraway darkness of my earliest memory, I remember this light; it was the birth of stars, the small sparkle in the black of nothing. This is that thing that we all forget, this is that memory born with all of us to bind us to the birth of light. And all around us are these ribbons of light, all around us the world glows and vibrates. But you have not forgotten and I see what others don’t. 

I watch a bead of light form on your lips, I watch tiny sparks dance between your fingers. When night falls I imagine you mimic the starry sky, when night falls, I will dream of light...