Odes to Lucid Dreaming · Track 21 · middle
Dissolved Into Light
Every person I passed on the street turned into someone I'd lost. I didn't run this time. I greeted each one and watched them smile before they gently dissolved into light.
Lyrics
[Intro] The pavement is a long, slow mirror. I am walking toward myself, walking away. The lampposts are pages torn from a book I almost remember. [Verse 1] The first one has your face, but it's not you. A stranger's coat, a familiar gait. He turns as I pass, and the architecture resolves. Suddenly, it is you, exactly as I filed you away. The scar above your lip. My feet want to run. They have forgotten how to be still. [Chorus] But I don't run this time. I stop. I turn. I say your name like a password. You smile, a perfect photograph. And dissolve into a soft static of golden light. Just a warm space where you stood. Another ghost, greeted and gone. [Verse 2] The next is my dead grandmother, her hands are made of silver filigree. Then a long-dead friend, his apology written on the air between us. I rub my palms together, the old check. But my hands stay dark. The pavement glows instead. The cracks rearrange into your initials, over and over. [Chorus] And I don't run this time. I stop. I turn. I say each name like a key. They smile, a flashbulb memory. And dissolve into a soft hum of amber light. Just a warm silence where they stood. The whole street, a library of goodbyes. [Bridge] The procession is a corridor with no end. A reflection of a reflection. I see myself walking toward me, a version from ten years ago. She raises a hand. Her eyes ask a question I can't answer. Am I the ghost she is dreaming of? [Outro] The last one has my father's eyes. He doesn't smile, just nods. I nod back. The light he becomes is quiet, like morning through a dusty window. The silver street is empty now. Just the reflections of lampposts. And me, or my reflection. Still walking.