Phantoms of a Broken Dream

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They sat outside on the patio in her backyard as he stroked her hair and told her about his misadventures. She couldn’t remember feeling happier in her life, all that mattered was the gentle breeze that threatened to blow her flowery dress up. She was uncomfortable with that. He laughed and said he envied the wind. It made her shy, she hid her face in his chest. He laughed. They talked for hours on end, till an uninvited dusk started dawning. He had to leave. They walked hand in hand and sat on her front porch. She looked up at him, her heart full and bursting with warmth and he looked down into her eyes. It was awkward. She laughed.

“There’s something in your hair,” she said as she looked away, not sure what to make of the heat that passed between them in the moment.

He gently caught her chin and turned her face upward to him.

“Would you like to remove it?” he asked, his eyes searching hers and not letting them escape his gaze.

She woke up murmuring, trying to find an answer to the question when the full force of the noon day sun was streaking through her office. She had been asleep for two hours of her work day but she didn’t care. She drew the curtain, turned on the air conditioner and wrote her story. The deadlines could wait. The very thoughts that had tortured her enough to make her put her head down had birthed this dream, and somehow, just somehow it eased her pain. The morning had been trashy because it was his birthday and she cursed herself for not forgetting it. The day had gone downhill from then as she threw strangers nasty looks and almost threw a tantrum when the gateman told her she had to park outside. She had bitten her tongue and reminded herself to breathe…until breathing became a problem so she slept. She didn’t want to wake up. She willed her mind back into sub consciousness, tried to continue from when they were sitting at her front porch but failed miserably. And so she took pictures of those moments and hang them in her journal.

broken-dreamsThere is the pain everyone talks about, and probably goes through. But this one was different. It hurt in a beautiful bittersweet kind of way. Like tasting grapes before they were due. You know there’s a way they are meant to taste. A better way. But this is okay. It can work. You don’t mind it. She closed her eyes, not sure whether to cry or smile because in the pleasure was mixed both joy and sadness. In that moment, she didn’t mind that he had left without a word or that it was when she needed him the most, she just wanted her dream to be real. It had felt real, so real she decided reality was the lie.

It had been two weeks now, she wrote…

“When you’re dreaming with a broken heart, waking up is the hardest part.” -I’ll credit this when I find out 🙂

♣Writing Song: Exit Wounds by The Script♣

 

 

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