they’ve been wildly vivid dreams of late. the kind where you regret waking, where your dreams bring to fruition the perpetual cycle of imagination, steeped in sleep.
i get lost in my own head in bouts of boredom, bouts of stress, bouts of sexual inactivity. i dream of a man, or a big blue horse, or of a land far away and filled with smells and sights and people and sounds unfamiliar to me. i dream in a world unattached to comfort. and in this, i find a safe space.
i dream of a man, a blue eyed man, who i shared a kiss with once in a dark tent on the side of a mountain. it was June, the air was still crisp, and we had just met each other 24 hours previously. maybe not even that long. i didn’t over-think things then. it seemed a little simpler. i looked into his eyes and i didn’t think about reciprocation, or expectation. i merely admired their kindness, their color.
his demeanor was light, easy, airy. it still is. i read it on the letters he’s written me over the years, i re-read them from time to time. they don’t make me feel sad, nor do they fill me with regret. with this man, i have yet to do no wrong. he has yet to do no wrong. we’ve traveled down the same road, side by side for some years now, without ever seeing each other. we’re climbing up the same mountain. he’s on the north side, i’m on the south.
in a few weeks, after 5 years of knowing each other, we will finally meet on top of this mountain. we’ll meet down south, in a big city, surrounded by jazz, heat, the crooked, black branches of live oaks and the fallen blossoms of pink dogwoods. we’ll be harangued by street peddlers, i’ll gawk at horse drawn carriages, he’ll make sure there are no awkward silences.
but will this man live up to the guy i’ve been dreaming about? will my near-constant daydreams have squashed the potential for this reality to be bliss?
they say that expectation is the thief of joy. but how to i free the person of my dreams for the person at my feet? there are two men here. one is real, one is more real. i would like to stop dreaming, but the dreams fuel my reality, for one day, hopefully, they can come true and i can move onto dreaming of other things, completing the perpetual wheel of desire and want, never landing on anything solid. for a girl who finds comfort in walking on quaking ground, a solid place equates to an immobile, trapped existence.
this man, he always moves. he’s like air. but i do not desire to grasp this person, attempt the impossible. i intend to let him flow his existance over me like a breeze, weave his essence through my hair, close my eyes, and know it’s real, this time.
hopefully he won’t disappoint himself. hopefully, i won’t let him, my mind, the air and breeze, and the impossibility of reality, under live oaks and over dirty streets, being drowned in the odor honeysuckle. i hold my breath.