DREAM LOG NO.006

04/30/2010 § 2 Comments

source: long lim 

it was made of wood, lots of dark beautiful wood. a house among lush greens. the air was humid and the wind made no sound, drifting lazily in and out of doors, opened windows. the days were hot and sticky, but we paid no mind. if you stood still enough, you could smell the cool of the night approaching.

the little boy pushed his chubby fingers onto the piano. see ? like this, he said. okay okay, i said. and followed his hands, like a dancer learning new steps. i always pretend i’m a dancer; i don’t think i ever forgave myself for quitting. when beautiful music comes on, i dance in my head.

t came by, and pulled me away, to a room with no roof. just a wooden table in the middle and the dark sky above us. we sat on the bench, leaned back on the wall, and talked. talked about lovely things as we usually did. but his face was somber and tired. his beard scruffier than i remember. i didn’t bring it up, i only quietly hoped that he was alright. please be alright, dear friend.

it is morning, or dawn, or maybe the next evening after sunset, i can’t remember. a and i are like two little kids, sitting indian-style on a bed of white fluffy blankets. the fluffiest and softest i’ve ever felt. i should get some for my new place; i just wish they weren’t so hard to keep clean. maybe one day i’ll grow up into a lady who can keep white bedding.

he smirked at the idea of corrupting his friend. me. see ? like this, he said. he rolled it between his lean, drawer’s hands, his grin growing at his creation, then up at me. i had to smile back. it’d been so long since we’d seen each other and now he was finally committed to someone. his hair looked better, fuller, i thought. hmm, i said.

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