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They say that in your dreams you can be anything you want. You can travel to incredible places.

I can no longer even dream the world I want. My dreams now are too strange, inscrutable, and usually end with a group of people watching tv.

And in so many of them I see you across a room, near but too far.

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The End (version 2)

The night you said you loved me, the stars fell into the lake. We sat on a hill watching them approach from the horizon. Pinpricks winked out and tails of flame extinguished themselves in the water. I wondered what would happen when the sky was empty.

You looked into my eyes and I said nothing, but thought if the world is ending, at least you’re holding my hand.

Strangest Things #8

Sometimes it is as if someone is whispering to me from another world. It comes from right next to me, no more than an inch away from my ear, only when I’m alone. If it only happened as I was falling asleep I would assume I imagined it, but it might be any time of the day. The only time I can ever make out a word is when it whispers my name. Maybe someone is trying to talk to me. But they never really succeed.

Another Life #33

Every morning I set off into the just-risen sun, trekking the twenty-five minutes from whatever comforts there are in my home to my workspace. About half the time I wake up and enjoy a cup or two of coffee before I go; the other half, I swoop through a coffee shop on the way, sometimes ordering two coffees to get me through the day.

I rent the basement of a three-story house by the lake. The three main floors are divided into office space for people doing whatever kind of work they do. I never see them. I just head to my subterranean lair through its private door, neatly avoiding any distracting contact with people (ten minutes of small talk can turn into an hour or two of internet surfing afterward…). Once I’ve disappeared, I start to pound and hack away.

Feeding

This is either the beginning of a story, or just the first draft of a flash piece. I like it so far. Feel free to take this idea/theme and write your own version!

 

“Feed me,” said the heart.

 

“Feed me,” said the mind.

 

“Feed me,” said the soul.

 

We had forgotten how. We fed our stomachs instead, and feasted well. Risotto. Masala. Pierogi. We gorged on brie, persimmons, poached pears. Our heads swam with liquid chocolate, espresso, wine, whiskey, and we soaked it up with spongy pound cakes.

 

And in that gluttonous state, we starved.

 

Nostalgia*: Little Italian Towns

For no reason at all, I started thinking about my 2008 trip to Italy the other day. It happened during my semester abroad, which I spend at University College Cork in Cork, Ireland. My mom and I headed off to one of the lands of our ancestors (we’re both mutts) during the long study period between the end of classes and the start of exams. We were there for nine days, eight nights, I believe.

What came to mind? What was the aspect of that long-desired journey that popped up unbidden by any conscious process?

Part of our trip was spent in the small Tuscan town of Montespertoli, about an hour or two outside of Florence. It was rather secluded and quite beautiful around our lodgings, the house of a friend, but that is not what I remembered either. I thought instead of the few minutes we spent in the town, picking up a freshly baked loaf of bread that we would dress with salt and olive oil, sitting on a bench in the piazza with a small cup of gelato (the flavor escapes me. Stracciatella? bacio? Perhaps it was something with cherries and dark chocolate). The memory flashes in my mind, such a fleeting snapshot that I could never really describe what it looked like. I remember it being small. Not many people there, very different from the time we spent in the cities.

Is the feeling you get in a small town in a foreign country due to the place itself, or is it because you’re in a new place, unfamiliar and quieter than what you’re used to?

What would it be like to live in a place like that? Would you know everyone in town? Would you meet an attractive stranger and share a bacio on a patch of grass (either the gelato, or in the other sense)?

All I can think now is how much more I’m sure I could have appreciated what was around me at the time.

 

 

*I was going to call it a “Throwback thursday” post, but “Nostalgia” just sounds so much better. It sounds like either a flowering vine or one of those nebulous diseases that are so hard to diagnose. You decide… In fact, vote! In the comments!

Another Life #26

One day I saw myself as an old woman. I was boarding the bus, and I did not seem to notice that I was there as well. So I watched me unseen. I thought I looked lonely, and I wanted to reach out, but how strange would that have been…