A dream about you, baby"
"Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break."
This may be one of those posts where people tell me, "I am looking into your soul." Please, I have no soul; at least none that I can detect.
Last night, I had a dream about an old college love. Succinct and sweet, but as with all romantic dreams, it bears no relationship to logic, but to matters of the heart.
The dream was this:
In a classroom, I saw her. We were both avoiding each other. She then approached me and while keeping her eyes averted and her face hidden, she handed me a very small porcelain disc. It was like a coffee saucer and it had some words painted on it. Evidently it was an award she had won. I said something like, "Congratulations. That's great," and then kissed her left cheek. Then I kissed her lips and then her right cheek.
That kiss reminded me why I had fallen so crazy for her many years ago.
When I woke up, that old haunting feeling was back. No chastisement, I just accepted it. Dreams are wild things, unbidden absurdities and buried truths that we suppress in daylight hours. I had thought that these feelings were long shelved and condemned to history. Evidently not.
|The delicate pangs of wanting someone when|
they reciprocate not. Nice.
Ah, love. People attribute sarcasm to my demeanor. No fucking wonder.