Damn Cold Feet

What a wonderful feeling, but I must regale you the images in full.

I stood in front of my kitchen sink, leaning over the dishes that were tainted with the remains of bachelor food. I always did the dishes in the past, so for me to be piss-farting about with scrubbing isn’t exactly a new phenomena.

It was early in the day, so the floor was fairly cool. My being barefoot contributed to the chill.

I heard a knock at the door. I didn’t know who it could’ve been, as I wasn’t expecting company.

As I padded my way down the hallway to the front door, I could spy the shadows of the feet behind the door. They were shifting uneasily from side to side, pacing a waltz of nervousness and frustration.

I immediately become suspicious, but for some unknown reason I open the door with the gusto and fervour of someone who is agitated from being drawn away from a pressing issue.

There on the porch stood my ex-wife, tears streaked down her face, her mascara tracing her cheeks like heavy paint. As she looked at me and saw my livid face, she noticeably flinched and leant heavily on the porch to support herself. It was almost as though she was struggling to stand.

“I made a mistake” she claimed softly, her tears cracking her voice slightly, “I shouldn’t have left you like that. I was wrong to do what I did.

“Can you ever forgive what I did? We had something special before, and I want to recapture that. It was beautiful before. I want to hear my thoughts again, to be drawn and pulled forward by my heart and not my ego… I want to speak to the poet inside.”

I reached my hand out and caressed her cheek. Cradling her tiny head in my palm, her hair cascaded lightly across the back of my hand like a pulled curtain.

The sadness appeared all too obvious in her eyes. I stared deeply into their light brown colour. She closed her eyes as I leant in closer to her.

I leant in closer again, closer to her face. Intimately, I exhaled softly but determinedly into her ear:

“Fuck you.”

I wake up.

I feel wonderful inside, like I am finally cleansed of something. The only bit of discomfort I feel is the coldness in my feet… my blanket had been pulled up, and my bare feet were exposed to the crisp morning air.

I think this dream is only representative of my desires, and nothing more. Normally I hate dreaming about my ex-wife like that, though.

I hate it when my feet are cold.