may
dreaming romantically of strangers and friends
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I’ve heard the sleeping brain can’t create new faces. Everyone you’ve ever seen in a dream is someone you’ve seen in real life, either in person or in photos. Television stars, film actors, boys on posters.
I dream in cinema. I don’t think that’s special, but I do think it’s a talent of mine—utterly useless to everyone except my diary, and now you all, who might read this and take comfort. I watch myself in my mind’s movie, frolicking and, most often, falling in love.
When I was young, I remember conjuring up a boyfriend in my dreams. He was an older girl’s little brother; she was someone my sister knew, whom I’d never met. Was it possible she had a brother? Sure. In my dream, he was a track star, particularly skilled in the pole vault.
He would charge like a devil and stab his stick into the ground. When he lobbed himself over the bar, the arc of his body looked like someone suspended in a clear pool of water. He was like Icarus, falling down onto the landing mat and, subsequently, into my arms. It turns out that older girl did have a brother. He ran cross country.
Another time I dreamt of a girl named An, pronounced like “on.” We spent days on end together in New York City, picking peonies from the gardens and tossing quarters into the stream. I kissed her up against the Balto statue in Central Park. I remember my heart breaking when she loaded me onto the bus in Queens, waving as I made my way to the airport.
In my dream, I nodded off shortly after boarding the plane. I awoke in my bed in real life. I remember feeling sad and distracted that day. She really seemed like someone I knew.
Last night, I dreamt we were swimming in canals. They were clean and fresh, so pristine we could drink the water without risk of sickness or poison. We swam all day long, taking a short break to rest indoors and dress for the night. We wound up at a record store. I bought a Wang Chung album.
I remember sneaking glances, quickly looking away when I found his gaze was already fixed in my direction, almost as though he was anticipating mine. We played this game back and forth throughout the dream. I remember waking and thinking, This is familiar.
We swam some more in the canals, doggy paddling in the shallow end until the ground was close enough to stand on. I remember his face. He must be someone I know.
In the morning, I opened up my phone, and there he was. A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. I blushed. What if he found out?
I am comforted by the anonymity of dreams. These are my private films, and I can only recount them in the way of someone who wasn’t paying much attention during the movie, as is the nature of these fleeting made up memories.
In my dreams, you’re all paid actors. In real life, I’m your biggest fan.
Poetry practice - May
Could be that
You were always
Honest
And I enjoyed it
Lying for sportListen while you read
It has been awhile — missed u xoxo
This is a free publication. Means a lot if u read/like/share/tell me about it etc.
This post felt like a aperol spritz on a summer day. So clean and engaging.
this is so sweet and clear