A FALSE AWAKENING by ADELINE SWARTZENDRUBER
March 25 2025Sometimes life rubs up too close against the fantasy; I dream
I am in bed next to you and wake up in bed next to you.
I leave on a roaring metal dragon, Don Quixote battling windmills
in my mind, I’m growing out my hair in case you need to reach me.
The straggly split ends are simply not my business. Rapunzel’s tower spire rises
from Lego constructions below, brick buildings, bodegas and bars as real
as anything else. A spherical cloud above my skylight is shaped like
whatever I want— a mole on your stomach, perhaps.
You were my imaginary friend, a hologram
in the phantasmagoria of moodboards and chatrooms where I raised myself.
You sprang up and became real. I dm’d the void and it brought a respond vibe back—
I imagined you right into existence. I imagined you on my mouth
and there you were. I remain convinced
we stopped seeing mythological creatures only because we stopped believing in them.Elves are still spotted in Iceland. They’re still real there.
Imaginary friends come find you if you believe in them
and believe in them and believe in them and believe in
them against reason, against sanity. Our friends tell the truth:
You are deleteriously beautiful.
You know this, but need a body
for proof, something to bounce light off of.
You kiss like you feel it for real
and your kindness to me is an apology.
My friends say it’s bad for me.
The fourteen-year-olds on my anonymous meme page
are impressed by my life’s dense plot;
The fourteen-year-olds on my anonymous meme page
become my primary confidants.
Trying to emulate your poetry
has made my poetry worse.
Trying to write about you at all is misguided— What is there to capture? A sliver of light
through the window falling across your small face, cup of coffee for which I thanked you
too profusely, a wince
of discomfort when I kissed you too soft on the cheek, a barrier
breaking
better left unbroken, an open woundbreaking
parading through your apartment like a pedigree poodle
gunning for best in show. You were never there to judge me, you wanted
a ribbon for yourself. fingers tracing
abs and arms
disjointed flesh to be assessed in parts
viewed in movie close-up
not the inscrutable whole,
indelible glances—I thought I saw you look at me but it was just you waiting to be looked at
to be seen looking at me, the glance you practiced
for your ever-receding chance to act the male lead in a romance. I’m audience
to the best teen movie never made
years too late
for it to matter, your ghost won’t look the way you thought it would.He’ll be older. You made it but you’re disappointed
because you won’t be famous for being beautiful. You’ll only be yourself.
I held your hologram and for a moment it was solid, fingers didn’t
swipe right through. I kissed an old picture, faux sepia-toned, hair swooping just so,
everything the way you imagined. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the thunderous applause
in hypothetical cinemas; Put those moments onscreen I promise
the crowd would be enraptured. I don’t know why it had to be this way. You did
everything right.
Adeline Swartzendruber is an actress and writer living in Brooklyn. Her work can also be found in Expat. Her life isn’t really happening to her, it’s just a story she’s telling.
Also by Adeline:
ASPIRATIONAL