Dream

Sometimes I talk aloud when no one else

Is around.Witnessing my own existence

Through barely distinguishable vibrations.

Thoughts linger in the air, uselessly,

Only to move aside by the wake I create,

As I move across the room.

Through space and time.

Cruelly, with sleigh-of-hand,

Time works itself upon me.

Lines on my face - indicators

That I am no longer innocent with youth.

It's taken me this long to get acquainted with myself.

I'm still not used to navigating this clumsy body.

I look at my hands in muted awe.

Watching them morph and change

Create and destroy.

Occasionally my hands surprise me

Like when I find them clasped to someone else's.

I feel detached from myself in these moments,

Like an out-of-body experience

Or a dream.