Once Upon A Dream
Description
An aspiring author goes to the same seat at the same table at the same library at the same time each day. She leaves promptly at 3:15pm and goes to work. She writes about her dreams, about the man who's face she never sees, about conversations she's never had. She leaves them on the table, because what use is it to cling onto dreams? At the end of the week, she returns to the table and finds her papers piled up on the seat, she sits down and flicks through them to see cursive red pen scribbled underneath. It continues the conversation, blanks she can't remember, and she can't help but feel butterflies fly laps in her stomach. At the very end of the last page, in a slightly neater font- as if written with great care, are the words.
Shall we find out what happens next? X
Foreword
It’s like a dream half remembered- I close my eyes and let the words pool to the surface. I pick and choose from the fray, waiting for the words to have purpose, to make sense from the disarray, the madness. Where do the words come from, I wonder? Why these words and are they my own? Of course they are, why wouldn’t they be? My subconscious tells me more of myself than a therapist or personality test ever could.
Hello, my name is my own and wouldn’t you like to know about it? I think about the way things are and the way things might have been. The purpose of artificial things, the strain on our minds and our pockets over an idea that paper is worth more than gold and what we surround ourselves with defines us as a being. If my mind is my own, why do I search for someone to share it with, to find kin in the face of strangers and love in the strangest of places?
It’s odd to think back now, to where I found him. You may search the strangest of places only to find them a few paces behind you- just out of sight. For you may think that you’re the only one searching, but someone is seeking you out all the same. If you are part of a whole, then wouldn’t it make sense for the other half to be just as curious too?
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