Imagine you have a dream, one rooted in joy, peace and the feel of home. A dream that reminds you of your childhood; freshly cut grass in the front lawn for football, dancing in the rain before the drops fell too heavily and the look your mother would give you whenever she remembered you were her miracle. One that was so inconceivable you restricted to the confines of your mind, never to be spoken of.
A dream that was scripted perfectly, one with no sense of hesitancy, an atmosphere of grandeur similar to those Victorian mansions we once lusted after in the movies we spent our time watching as children.
A dream you came to grasp in the palm of your hands, gently wielding for all to marvel at its greatness. You could never fumble or risk it being tainted by the ground, no. You held on for dear life and the countless arrears that life threw at you didn’t faze you. One that was impossible, but life being kind granting you the opportunity to immerse breathe into it.
Now imagine this beautiful dream being stripped from your hands whilst their open to welcome more, more than once. Picture the agony, pain, the sensation of the strings in your heart being pulled in a cacophony of ugly tunes. Fingers trembling with confusion, your head spiralling out of sense and the sinking tactility drowning you from the face up.
I don’t think I’ll have the will to dream anymore. Not after this.

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Footnotes

This is the last poem I wrote to Swimming, a studio album by Mac Miller. Tragedy proved to be the theme of August and I had a tough time getting through the month. I knowingly and unknowingly lost so much, I struggled daily to get by. I was least excited for my own birthday as doubt and grief surrounded me in this time. This was a poem written to release, written to acknowledge the pits I found myself in. I made it a point to play Swimming everyday as I found hope in some of the lyrics Mac Miller stated in his songs. I found refuge and comfort knowing that things could and will indeed get better in time. I’m eternally grateful to Malcom for composing such an encouraging body of work, he unknowingly kept me going. Thank you, Malcolm. I hope you’re resting well.