You know, I had a strange but good dream. I rarely have good dreams. Usually, I’m there, sniveling and begging my mum that has come to life to go see a doctor, as I did yesterday. Or I find myself naked in the middle of a winter city, dying of shame, trying to pretend that it’s all intentional, that this is how it’s meant to be, while desperately looking for something to cover myself with, somewhere to hide from the snide, judgmental looks—like a few nights ago. But today, I was an actor in a hospital TV series.
I’m wearing blue medical scrubs. In the role, I’m completely different: brazen, free, bold—the kind of person I’ve never been. But I sank into it, inhabited it, and now, on the set, I had become my character.
I climbed onto a tall stool—and then you walked in. I wrapped my arms around your waist and spun you. In the real world, with real physics, it would have looked ridiculous: me turning on a bar stool while you ran sideways around me. But in the dream it wasn’t like that—it was as if I had spun the whole world around us. I laughed the way children laugh—without thinking whether it’s appropriate, how it looks from the outside, what anyone might think of it. You looked into my eyes and said, “That’s not you,” placing a lilting emphasis on the last word.
Somewhere in the blurred haze around us there were people, watching with irritation and judgment—that’s a thought from the real me, now. Back then, I couldn’t think about that. I was in the role. I was made of Teflon and mirrors: other people’s dirty thoughts slid off me without staining, sharp glances reflected away without piercing my skin.
It’s not me. But this “not me” feels good! This not-me shines like the sun over the compacted drifts of my “self,” pitted and dirty. They’re already beginning to melt. I just need to stay like this a little longer, keep the fire going, and they’ll melt, evaporate—and I’ll remain “not myself” forever. Reckless, uninhibited, boundless. An all-terrain vehicle pushing through any off-road. A tank smashing through any barrier. A hero.
But you say that’s not me.
You know what I can’t remember from that dream? Your smile.
I don’t think you were smiling.
dededos
prguitarman
kianamaiart
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
