Home > Head2Screen, StoryBored > Dream a Little Dream.

Dream a Little Dream.

I had a dream several years ago. I can’t remember where I was exactly. I think that it was somewhere I had been before but it was nowhere I had been recently. It wasn’t a fantastical dream either – not the usual flight of fancy of trapping a serial killer, fighting space ghosts (in space, not coast to coast) or trying to convince Armando Ianucci to bring back Saturday Night Armistice and the 99p Challenge.

I was just walking, I turned a corner alongside a cafe, it was painted white and even had a steaming cup of coffee painted on the window. I walked up past a couple of people and there was this girl. I can’t remember her features. They were not striking or immediately stunning.. like say, Scarlett Johanson, or ethereal beauty like Tilda Swilton. She was one of those REAL, natural attractive girls you see everyday and just think ‘wow’. If compared to these celebrity beauties, she would have been generously awarded an ‘average’ grade, but you and I both know that when you see a real, natural beauty in the street, you understand why painters painted.

So back to the dream. We exchanged glances, that is to say, she looked up and noticed me looking. She blushed slightly, the colour tingling the flesh in the manner of a breath causing condensation on a window. She did not look away though… no, she smiled. Such a smile. Have you ever heard someone who loves God? I’m not talking about those aggressively zealous types, or crazy preachers, but an honest to goodness Love, like he is a spouse you have been with for 30something years. I have. I have and that person told me that the love she felt from God was warm, glowing and filled her up with a strong light and confidence. Confidence because her faith had been rewarded and she KNEW he existed. I admit, I was kind of jealous, because I have no religious leanings and have never experienced that kind of conviction of faith. Anyway, the closest I have ever come to knowing how that woman felt, was right at that moment, in that one smile, in that one dream.

I remember smiling back and it was I who looked away in embarrassment. Then I was approaching another corner and as I turned back, I think she might -just might- have turned back to look at me, the movement of her hair suggested it at least. A few steps past the corner I stopped. I realised that I HAD to see this girl. I couldn’t walk on past this moment, this chance, I would never be able to live with myself for doing so.

She wasn’t there.

I wasn’t overly surprised: after all she was walking away. However, she wasn’t really walking that fast so she must have literally just turned the corner herself. I ran to catch her up and when I got to the other end of the little side street, she had definitely gone. I looked one way, I looked the other. Across the street in both directions, nothing. I started running, pushing past people, their bodies just like tackle bags there to test me and I passed that test. Somehow I knew that she had not turned into any shops because the shops had now gone from having individual frontages to grey clay-like uniformity and there was no getting in or out. As I write this, I reflect and wonder if I realised this because the shops changed or the shop changed because I realised. Chicken or egg?

In dreams, time is superfluous. It flows and ebbs and cause and effect can be the same thing, occurring simultaneously. I digress.

I turned and tried to run back, only this time it was my own legs which were the obstacle. In my mind I was doing the right thing; willing them to move forward, I could feel the muscles straining against the flesh but I was slowing until it felt like I was wading through mud. At this point, you might be thinking “ah yes, sleep paralysis, very common, happens all the time” and you’d be right, you fucks. The problem was, I was starting to realise it myself. At that point I started to realise that I was dreaming because of the paralysis and usually (in my case at least) that means that I am about to wake up. Somehow I willed myself to forget this and go back under. It was some huge fucking force of will – enough to control a thousand green lantern rings – that not only did I go back to my dream, but I started running. Running after her.

I was back at the same side street, with the same cafe and I think the walls of the street might have been painted yellow.

And there she was. Just where I had seen her before. I walked up to her and we spoke. I wish I could remember what we said. It was possibly the most poetic exchange of words since God first spoke to his choirs of Angels or it may have been ordinary, fumbling drivel. It doesn’t really matter what was said exactly, but it was said and a connection is made – THAT is why I want to remember. I want to remember what magic words made her take my hand, raise herself slightly – not quite tiptoe, but a significant increase – and kiss me.

Again with the golden glow. The feeling of completeness, perfection. Several cultures across the world have old mythologies/beliefs that your soul is two parts. The greek myths state that man was born back to back with woman and had four legs, four arms and two heads. They were complete and one of the older gods was jealous and cut man in two and separated the parts so he would never be able to find the other to complete himself. The concept of yin and yang too, a whole complete circle created by two different halves.

And with that kiss I was whole. Complete. Perfect.

Then she was walking away and I was left in a daze, giddy and happy and quickly waking up.

It was odd to say the least. This overwhelming emotion of love was still with me. I was still touched by it even though i was approaching fully awake and some level of compos mentis. This feeling was so soothing and perfect and then I woke up just a bit too much.

I froze. To this day I still remember that feeling. You know when you go over a bump too fast and your stomach drops. It was like that, only when you go over the bump, your stomach drops a little. This felt like it was free-falling at a huge rate. The sober state of consciousness made me fully aware that ir was a dream and that girl was not real and. I. Just. Wept.

Great racking sobs, loud, tearful crying of so much loss I hadn’t even achieved when someone close to me had died. In fact, I did not cry like that again until only very recently. It was a mixture of loss and grief and an underlying fear of something like a dream having this much effect on me. I was stunned to say the least. I sat there crying and heaving until I was shaking and my eyes were dry and raw. I finally pulled my shit together enough to call in sick to work. I know, stupid right? Well, this was how much it had felt to me. Unfuckingbelievable.

I still think back to that dream and that girl. Maybe thinking I might see her somewhere – KNOWING that I will recognise her and she might recognise me. Okay, I doubt the latter, but as you may have guessed by now, I am a hopeless romantic.

I don’t know why this thought came back to me at 6:15 on a saturday  morning. It might have been something someone said on Twitter. It might have been the total lack of sleep. All I can say is that it is here now. A dream, made as real as I can make it, simply by writing it down.

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Categories: Head2Screen, StoryBored
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