It

From behind the hills, it rises to greet me with callous hands and dust-flaked heart. It has long resigned itself to the arrival of rambling souls, such as myself, who seek dreams with its arms. What they forget is that we carry those illusions with us, nestled in the space between heartbeats. We do not merely find them, in line, on the street corner, waiting to be picked.

Dreamers dream everywhere, regardless of geographical location, social conditioning or simple state of mind. Dreamers battle with the physical manifestation of thought, yet continue to dance on distant clouds with the zeal of a child allowed in the sandpit for the very first time.

Internal monologues rarely find partners to dance with and dreamers find companionship fleetingly. Time is a commodity constantly fading and, with so much to do, dreamers are often mentally isolated willingly. They exist above and within, but never with.

Am I a dreamer? Do I carry fantasies in my backpack of future?

These are the thoughts that tickle me as I rush forward to embrace this city, as it rises, from behind southern hills, to greet me.

I have been here before... often .... I have explored its shadows, occassionally running through the tentacles of its many neon lights. We know each other but, today, it seems we meet for the first time. Our lips touch for a second and we both pull away. The awkwardness of this fresh encounter drains me. Although I am entering its core, I beg for a raincheck on a complete embrace.

Sometimes, most times, foreplay is silent. It begins in the darkness of our loins, inspired by the musings of our minds, and lingers. Actual coupling is the conclusion to an act that is about being in the moment.

I flee towards it, and away from it.... this city. This place of misguided dreams. This place of broken dreams. This place of hideous beauty.

This place I shall call 'home' one day.