The places I go at night

I have dreamt so many times of a place that doesn't exists. Or, at least I think it doesn't. The town is quiet and hazy, with wide cobbled roads that sweep down onto sea-front promenades. The shops are dark and old, and in my dream it is always dusk. Just myself, wandering without purpose through streets so late into the night that the sun is beckoning. Cliffside houses and shops stand tall over the ocean, calling me in. There are no cars and no people, just redundant street lights too dim for the indigo sky. The main department store is always mostly closed, with huge ceilings and winding mahogany staircases. 

In my dreams I often stand alone in consciousness. People around me going about their lives, playing out their own dreams in a place different to mine. At times, they spur a deep-bellied fear in me without reason or infliction. Just an urgent danger that leaks through my sleep like ink on wet paper, and makes my eyelids flicker as I hide behind cabinets, catch steel lifts and climb townhouse windowsills. 

At times, the world is advanced, as though it were 50 years in the future. I dream of airplanes that have glass seating 'pods', which take off and land with abruptly accurate suddenness. In others, the sky is bloody and broken in streaks of red; the apocalypse. Revolutions held on rooftops towering above city lights. I am not afraid, but mourn the loss of our planet from hilltops. Great craters in the earth scoff land into fiery pits and I cannot stop staring at the stars, like taking them in with my eyes will draw tangibly some of their magic inside me.