Last night, I dreamt that I was with a woman of recent acquaintance. Talking. Sharing. Emoting. Attaining a kind of connection... the kind you find in those romantic films that really reach you, emotionally... the kind that you can never accurately describe to anyone who’s never been in love... that kind of connection, where there was the perfect balance of understanding and acceptance for anything not understood. Where anyone on the outside looking in could see it in our actions, our body language, our stolen glances.
...Hmm? Who was she? Judas Priest! Trust me when I say that it doesn’t really matter... except, maybe, to me. ‘She’ is representative of an archetype and therefore ‘her’ identity is coincidental. ‘She’ could’ve easily been replaced by any celebrity du jour or any character from a television show that I’d fallen asleep to while watching.
Besides, I never know who’s reading this these days... Where was I? Right.
At some point, I’m aware that we’re in a ‘first date’ situation, and that it has lasted for nearly 24 hours. We are laying on the grass, watching the sky, our heads together with our bodies pointing in opposite directions. Still talking. Euphoric in that realization that this…THIS ...is what we have been looking for… individually... collectively as humans... this, the essence of sonnets... and that it is mutually reciprocal. I remember nothing specific from any of the conversations, just the general feeling that they were the best I’ve ever had. In reality, I have had moments such as this, felt that connected at some level, and thus I’m able to recognize the rarity & beauty of the situation.
A moment of silence. She reaches over to touch my face, kissing me gently. She then rises and walks into her house, pausing to turn back and smile at me before entering. I walk slowly to the window, somehow already aware of what I will see.
She stands in the living room, in full bridal splendor, with a groom & wedding party & guests. I watch the proceedings for as long as I can before turning away, taking that long walk home. Before waking, my last thought is how beautiful (albeit more traditional than I’d have expected) she looked.
The heavy-handed metaphors and allegories aside, I’m still sorting this all out in my head. Twice now, just thinking about this today has me in a state. I’m wiping tears out of my eyes trying to type this. I’ve been utterly manic today, presumably to combat the overwhelming depressive swing I can feel lurking behind my eyes. Remember... I laugh not because it’s funny, but to keep from screaming.
I don’t know if I’m putting this out there, hoping that someone... anyone... has an answer, or if I’m just doing it just to get it out of my head, or a little bit of both. That last one seems most likely. Dunno... But it’s out there now. Meh... nevermind.
To paraphrase my friend Melissa: “Who needs therapy when you have the Internet?”
...Hmm? Who was she? Judas Priest! Trust me when I say that it doesn’t really matter... except, maybe, to me. ‘She’ is representative of an archetype and therefore ‘her’ identity is coincidental. ‘She’ could’ve easily been replaced by any celebrity du jour or any character from a television show that I’d fallen asleep to while watching.
Besides, I never know who’s reading this these days... Where was I? Right.
At some point, I’m aware that we’re in a ‘first date’ situation, and that it has lasted for nearly 24 hours. We are laying on the grass, watching the sky, our heads together with our bodies pointing in opposite directions. Still talking. Euphoric in that realization that this…THIS ...is what we have been looking for… individually... collectively as humans... this, the essence of sonnets... and that it is mutually reciprocal. I remember nothing specific from any of the conversations, just the general feeling that they were the best I’ve ever had. In reality, I have had moments such as this, felt that connected at some level, and thus I’m able to recognize the rarity & beauty of the situation.
A moment of silence. She reaches over to touch my face, kissing me gently. She then rises and walks into her house, pausing to turn back and smile at me before entering. I walk slowly to the window, somehow already aware of what I will see.
She stands in the living room, in full bridal splendor, with a groom & wedding party & guests. I watch the proceedings for as long as I can before turning away, taking that long walk home. Before waking, my last thought is how beautiful (albeit more traditional than I’d have expected) she looked.
The heavy-handed metaphors and allegories aside, I’m still sorting this all out in my head. Twice now, just thinking about this today has me in a state. I’m wiping tears out of my eyes trying to type this. I’ve been utterly manic today, presumably to combat the overwhelming depressive swing I can feel lurking behind my eyes. Remember... I laugh not because it’s funny, but to keep from screaming.
To paraphrase my friend Melissa: “Who needs therapy when you have the Internet?”
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