March 3, 2013

I had the most vivid dream a couple of nights ago, and the nights following have been the same. They have been so clear that even days later I can remember them in detail.

Calvin and I were driving in a pickup truck. He was driving and I was in the passenger’s seat. It was early summertime, and everything was light green and full of life and sunlight. It looked like the most heavenly day to be in the countryside. The temperature was mild. We came across a small store set up half in/half out of a woman’s garage. It felt sort of like a garage sale, but everything was tastefully decorated. I recognized the woman as Jean, my daycare lady from childhood, although she had no physical resemblance to here at all. There were two trees in the yard– a large oak tree similar to the one on the boulevard in front of my house, and an olive tree nearby. The truck was positioned facing the garage when Calvin started to drive into it. I told him there wasn’t a place to park, and that he should back up, and I started to panic. I looked over at him, but he had been replaced. An old man was now in the driver’s seat, and he was looking at me with this placid expression on his face, and he said to me something along the lines of “It’s okay to have fun,” or “I only want to have a little fun,” and immediately a sense of serenity washed over me. I felt a complete sense of calm. This endured until the driver backed out of the garage to reveal that the oak tree had a large part of it crushed by the truck, and the olive tree was completely destroyed. The feeling of serenity was replaced by a sadness so intense that it bordered on terror. I wish I could remember what came next but that is where my dream ended.

No one cares when you’re crying on the train. The world is not your mother’s arms. The world is cold like hell. The city is a perfect world for a self-centered girl. I’ll look at no one, I’ll hold my own hand at the bus stop, I’ll cry in my own arms until I’m tired enough to fall asleep. My self is split in two.

I wish I didn’t know how everyone talked so that I could write the way that children do. Innocence makes you so unbiased.

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