Often when I dream, I see a girl whom I’ve never met before.
The first time I saw her, we were lovers. The setting felt like Italy, I think, perhaps in Tuscany or Verona. We picked fruit in a walled garden; we ran from authority. For stealing, she was turned into a golden statue of a deer and I remember crying.
I woke up wanting to see her again. But I didn’t have any idea where to look.
The second time I saw her, we were lovers yet again, this time taking the form of a mermaid and her human girlfriend. The moon was high and the tide pool sparkled; I remember wanting so desperately to take her under the water, to show her my beautiful home, but knowing deep down that she wouldn’t survive the trip.
I half expected to see her sitting at the foot of my bed in the light of early morning sun, and the seashells on my bookcase suddenly called to me more than they ever had before.
It’s not as strange to see her anymore. In fact, sometimes I even hope that she will show up, because, in whatever disjointed reality that becomes my dream, she will be the only other constancy besides me.
But even I am not a constant. Not really. There was a time I was observing myself carrying out corporate espionage. In that world, she was the tech guru who became my partner in crime.
I especially like it when we talk.
It’s never in a language I understand. We never make discernible sentences, and I never remember the conversations when I wake up.
Instead, when I wake up I remember her face. I remember her.
When I wake up I want to look for her.
But where would I look? Where in the world would I look?
And why can’t I figure out where I saw her before?
I know the human brain can’t construct an image of a face it has never seen before. So at some point, I met her.
If only I could figure out who she is.
Why am I so desperate to find out?
That was a silly question, I know why.
I wonder if she thinks of me, too, whoever she is. I wonder if she wonders.
Please, love, whoever you are, look for me. Look for me. And if you find me, I feel I will know.
And when our eyes finally meet, it will be dawn. Dawn, at long last. We’ll know we can pick as much fruit as we please, we can run and laugh wildly. Why not visit the seaside? Time does not matter; we finally have each other.
Your eyes will hold the dawn of our waking dream. Awake and alive, in a light-touched place where a pinch will not cause your face to fade away.
