I’ve been typing up old journals, and came across a couple interesting entries. They had to do with dreams, specifically dreams of a romantic sort.
I’m strange, I guess, when it comes to romance. I don’t know the half of it, because I’ve never been in love before.
See for yourself. Well, I mean, read for yourself.
I had this particular dream back when I was fifteen: It was me and a man. He had dark hair and a pleasant face, didn’t look like anyone in particular. He was sleeping, and I was sitting on the end of the bed, watching him sleep. I felt like I loved him. He woke up, and I was scared inside, but kept my cool. We started talking, and I had a pressing question for him. I asked him if he wanted to kiss me. I think my voice kept fading out, or it was too low, because I had to repeat myself three times, and the last time I had to get very close to him, and I whispered it in his ear. He was like, “Is that all you’re worried about?” and started laughing, but not in a mean way. He was holding my hands all the while. He said no, he didn’t want to kiss me, and I felt oddly relieved by that. Then he wanted to go back to sleep, and so I said, “If you get lonely, just call.” And that was all.
And then this dream, from a couple years ago: Again, it was me and a man, but there were three others with us. We all were walking across a barren parking lot, and it was warm and sunny out. We were talking and I don’t remember what precipitated it, but the man suddenly turned and kissed me. The three other people hooted and hollered, but I wasn’t embarrassed, merely shocked. When the man stepped back, he said, “Not like that. Like this.” And kissed me again. And this time, the three other people were silent, almost in awe. And that was all.
So. That was it.
Just felt like sharing, for something different to talk about, I guess.