I simply want to …

I understand war now.
It isn’t about the target.

I dreamt of black Labradors swimming.

There are planets of friendships and worlds of dreams about turquoise tsunamis and smiling hound dogs that swim in peace like dolphins with wet noses, bobbing along like ducks and people who get along at a music festival.

We stand and laugh when the rain dumps us all together under the bright white tent. It’s the best. Your blonde hair, dark and drenched, matted across your forehead.

My cousin and I had talked non-stop all day, catching up and drinking sweet cups of gossip and dreams of her moving here and seeking A/C for lunch. So now when we are at the music festival, caught in a downpour, we are silent.

All around our bodies packed between colorful camp chairs and porkpie hats.

Women are in their loosest dresses. People are talking up a storm inside the storm! Two boys in shorts are sliding on the dance floor out in front of the stage—hogging the moment, slip sliding.

When I catch her eye I know she might be thinking the same thought-- suddenly there’s nothing to say.

I do know why people want to bomb each other—criticize and bemoan and save up all the righteous bitterness and blast it on their subordinates.

“When you are in my house, you play by MY rules.”

Echoes of the sourness, people who have been out of love’s reach for so long they can’t even remember how it tasted.

Rain on your upper lip. Rain between your toes. Rain squishing through all the layers.

No walls here. No house.

What was the prompt?