Was this even a date? The word hummed in the air as I took another gulp. That’s why I hated myself sometimes by my thoughts in reality. It felt as if everyone hated everyone. In my head they were harmless, but once they would collide with the real world, as real as I could call this anyway, they seemed stupid. They reeked of cheap soft covered novels which were easy to find and caused a gagging reaction when reading. I mean, anybody could think of cheap crap like that.
Yet not all made millions by it.
Or not all had the guts to write that shit down.
That was the only difference.
And now I was earning nothing.
Asides from colouring up my love life, experiences and further thinking before falling asleep, into another web of gooey dreams, soon to forgotten or hidden by the surrounding reality, which I desperately wished to escape. All my life, I added bitterly, drinking it off the hot chocolate taste on my tongue fading out the depressing thoughts.
But then why were they depressing?
Why was it a depressing thing to literally sleep with dreams? To shed the stabbing life and hide behind or in a soft mattress, cover, sweater of dreams. We pull it anyway no matter how much we like what is around us. We desperately pull it on, trying to find something else. Something we can only find in dreams. Love. Because in reality sooner or later the bond brakes no matter whose fault I it. The male’s or female’s. I could go all feminist, since I am a female and all, but I don’t. Because in real life it’s never enough, we can never be full, because then we spill it, grabbing another cup.
Just like that.
We do it to ourselves.
I should stop quoting stuff. Or rather songs, something I do in my head. Something Mason approves in my mind for the past days and in reality I have to find out with the risk of getting the opposite wherever I want to or not. Without getting questioned of the result I may get a shrug or an eye roll or maybe something exactly the same like in my dream.
It felt as it was a moment which would slip away but was heavily held by a finger pressed against pause. So I took the moment holding it as much as I could, being that finger or holding by the end of his raincoat which wasn’t present at the current moment. Did he really have one? A dark blue raincoat which made a heavy contrast to his red hair, white shirts or light gray, which was his choice for today and played with his eyes giving them a nice, soft, warming, known sparkle.
-
Did Graham have a girlfriend?
The thought got caught in my head as reality was mixing with my own creations. Did I fake it? What would I do now? I could close up on him, but no. But then I saw him holding hands with that girl, or did he actually make out?
Had I seen Mason make out with anybody?
Had I ever seen him before?
I swore I had seen that mop of red hair before, but I still couldn’t make out an ideal image in my head, as I thought. Had I seen him throw a ball in the air scoring in the final seconds? Had I seen him in the school’s yellow pages that he had an affair with a young teacher? Had I even seen him before?
I stopped seeing him on the outside, no teal gazing from the end of the school yard, no toast stealing and no whispers in the ears only to be muted out.
“Here, you asked for it.” Leslie. A blank CD or was it not blank? I couldn’t look at the cover as hazel with red looked at me intensively. Will I ever stop getting such dreams? Get pinned to the side, get my hair stroked and the guy’s attempt.
I expected Mason to run up and push him in the other direction.
Blink.
Mason. Like some spell the moment is gone leaving Mason sitting on my desk, ruffling his hair, his hands holding open a book rather openly, as if hinting at me to read it. I walk up to him, as his gaze never leaves me as I take the book, the CD no longer with me. I flip it through, words burning in my head. I feel the paper brush against my fingers, I feel the words print into my head and its title burn turning into dust the rest of the dream, leaving recognizable ashes in the end as lyrics.
Mason leans back, closing his eyes for a second, giving me a wink before.
-
“You daze out here at first. Ignore it. Tries to corrupt your dreams.” Is it a whisper? Is it a shout? Is it telepathy? Why corrupt? Was I making all this up on the way, was my imagination making everything up on the way? Was this because I was dazing out because now it was normal for my body to mute out the world and by the looks of it black it out as well?
Saying that he was the light at the end of the tunnel would be poetic, useless and simply epic.
Why would I use that when I blacked out, not realizing where I was what time was it and once more what was happening and what was surrounding me. Maybe I just crossed it out fearing that my first encounter with Mason was personal and what if I could talk in my sleep, what if I would say it out, what if I’d write it down not able to hold?
I held out for several years.
Why not now?
Maybe because the stupid emotion was overwhelming creating a block for all further actions, as if I had this ideal play in my head, where I despite my principles I was the main character with the red head beside me, no other characters in it. Just hot chocolate in this scene, people in the background people I could erase with a swing of the hand, without any magic wand, without a click just a light swing even in the head. People I could make a fool out of myself knowing that I did not know them and likewise. I stood up as I finished my chocolate.
Chapter 13
Yet not all made millions by it.
Or not all had the guts to write that shit down.
That was the only difference.
And now I was earning nothing.
Asides from colouring up my love life, experiences and further thinking before falling asleep, into another web of gooey dreams, soon to forgotten or hidden by the surrounding reality, which I desperately wished to escape. All my life, I added bitterly, drinking it off the hot chocolate taste on my tongue fading out the depressing thoughts.
But then why were they depressing?
Why was it a depressing thing to literally sleep with dreams? To shed the stabbing life and hide behind or in a soft mattress, cover, sweater of dreams. We pull it anyway no matter how much we like what is around us. We desperately pull it on, trying to find something else. Something we can only find in dreams. Love. Because in reality sooner or later the bond brakes no matter whose fault I it. The male’s or female’s. I could go all feminist, since I am a female and all, but I don’t. Because in real life it’s never enough, we can never be full, because then we spill it, grabbing another cup.
Just like that.
We do it to ourselves.
I should stop quoting stuff. Or rather songs, something I do in my head. Something Mason approves in my mind for the past days and in reality I have to find out with the risk of getting the opposite wherever I want to or not. Without getting questioned of the result I may get a shrug or an eye roll or maybe something exactly the same like in my dream.
It felt as it was a moment which would slip away but was heavily held by a finger pressed against pause. So I took the moment holding it as much as I could, being that finger or holding by the end of his raincoat which wasn’t present at the current moment. Did he really have one? A dark blue raincoat which made a heavy contrast to his red hair, white shirts or light gray, which was his choice for today and played with his eyes giving them a nice, soft, warming, known sparkle.
-
Did Graham have a girlfriend?
The thought got caught in my head as reality was mixing with my own creations. Did I fake it? What would I do now? I could close up on him, but no. But then I saw him holding hands with that girl, or did he actually make out?
Had I seen Mason make out with anybody?
Had I ever seen him before?
I swore I had seen that mop of red hair before, but I still couldn’t make out an ideal image in my head, as I thought. Had I seen him throw a ball in the air scoring in the final seconds? Had I seen him in the school’s yellow pages that he had an affair with a young teacher? Had I even seen him before?
I stopped seeing him on the outside, no teal gazing from the end of the school yard, no toast stealing and no whispers in the ears only to be muted out.
“Here, you asked for it.” Leslie. A blank CD or was it not blank? I couldn’t look at the cover as hazel with red looked at me intensively. Will I ever stop getting such dreams? Get pinned to the side, get my hair stroked and the guy’s attempt.
I expected Mason to run up and push him in the other direction.
Blink.
Mason. Like some spell the moment is gone leaving Mason sitting on my desk, ruffling his hair, his hands holding open a book rather openly, as if hinting at me to read it. I walk up to him, as his gaze never leaves me as I take the book, the CD no longer with me. I flip it through, words burning in my head. I feel the paper brush against my fingers, I feel the words print into my head and its title burn turning into dust the rest of the dream, leaving recognizable ashes in the end as lyrics.
Mason leans back, closing his eyes for a second, giving me a wink before.
-
“You daze out here at first. Ignore it. Tries to corrupt your dreams.” Is it a whisper? Is it a shout? Is it telepathy? Why corrupt? Was I making all this up on the way, was my imagination making everything up on the way? Was this because I was dazing out because now it was normal for my body to mute out the world and by the looks of it black it out as well?
Saying that he was the light at the end of the tunnel would be poetic, useless and simply epic.
Why would I use that when I blacked out, not realizing where I was what time was it and once more what was happening and what was surrounding me. Maybe I just crossed it out fearing that my first encounter with Mason was personal and what if I could talk in my sleep, what if I would say it out, what if I’d write it down not able to hold?
I held out for several years.
Why not now?
Maybe because the stupid emotion was overwhelming creating a block for all further actions, as if I had this ideal play in my head, where I despite my principles I was the main character with the red head beside me, no other characters in it. Just hot chocolate in this scene, people in the background people I could erase with a swing of the hand, without any magic wand, without a click just a light swing even in the head. People I could make a fool out of myself knowing that I did not know them and likewise. I stood up as I finished my chocolate.
Chapter 13
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