i had a dream once, about a million years ago that i was sleeping beneath a tree, leaned up against some nameless faceless who warmed me while lazily reading from some obscure sci fi action thriller. no wonder i nodded off.
when i came to, i realized that i was covered in daisy chains that he had constructed after abandoning his book to the grass.
i looked out into water that magically appeared in front of us and asked him what he was doing.
he said, my fallen angel, i am tying you to the earth.
with dreams like these, who can ever count on reality to be as good, as frothy, as dripping with liquid gold? How can i daydream lightly about swirling around on a dance floor to the song 33 on my wedding day and shrug nonchalantly any time anyone ever asks me about love?
i have 5 tattoos. all reminders of the greatest love stories that i have ever been told. not one of them is my own.
i am not writing this because i am frustrated. more because i am tired of caring about seeming cooler than all of the other girls because i am just one of the guys.
i am not just one of the guys. i wear makeup and skirts and have swishy hair. but i am not afraid to get dirty or eat a chili dog or try to learn how to hang glide. i do not think these characteristics particularly make me manly, they just make me, me.
the lights are bright for now. by the time i step into the vehicle, the light will have faded into nervously lit embers and the magic of another chance to say more than a bunch of words.