I had a dream about a boy. He was young and beautiful and naive.
He had an amazing accent and a face I could love. I didn't want to tell him I was older than him. That I had a boyfriend. That I couldn't- and wouldn't- be his.
We met by my first apartment and we, with another girl, his roommate, went to drive, then walk, somewhere. I asked about school and life, and it felt real. They are quiet from friendly and fun. I didn't notice an accent, or the face like james mcavoy, until later. I spent this early time appreciating this chance with new, young people. Making friends. Soon we were walking towards the school, and at one point my best friend was there, then gone, but soon the tree-lined streets became new york lights and bustle. I talked about my love of the city and how I'd never gotten to do the things they do on tv. Be with friends on crazy adventures on manhatten streets. I keep asking questions, talking, laughing. I stay close to the boy. I tell myself that we could just be friends, that he wouldn't want more- that I wouldn't. I talk the most and the three of us lose each other in the crowd all the time, but my hair is blue and I'm wearing my new jacket and my arm is around them like old friends and I love it all.
There were strange parts in between- stores and cars and fear and drinks and a tennis court- but then we are back on the street and my heart already aches for him. [this feeling will last the rest of the dream, and carry through my slow wake up. I want to hold on to it so much I will put off waking to create an ending to our story. I want to hold that feeling, that aching longing, as long as I can.]
After that the dream was soon different. The three of us want to walk home. At one point the boy does drugs I don't want, and it makes me sad. At one point he kissed my now-bare shoulder, forgetting I wasn't his to kiss, and I wanted him and it hurt. At one point my boyfriend was there, his arm around my waist as we all walked, and though I didn't want him gone, it hurt as well, and I wanted to wrap my arms around the boy.
Then it is just us, walking somewhere else, still trying to go home. I don't know where I am but I keep going. A busy highway, a shopping center. We're arguing. I'm mad about something. I mention his behavior, and the fact that I'm not his to-- what? be jealous about? At some point I notice the accent. Mild, almost irish. I love it instantly.
There's a turnstile and then we're in a grassy valley, walking. There's a few other people and it's bright and I don't feel afraid. He asks about school and I finally tell him I'm older than he is. We walk and talk and I'm dreading the end. I'm offered a joint I gladly take. We say we'll meet later, go for a drink. I see in his eyes that we both need it. We meet at a bar I've been to in my dreams before. I find him after seeing other people I seem to know. We see something strange here that I don't understand. We've already realized that we want to be together. And that we can't. There's something here we find, something that tells u s we were supposed to meet, that because of it he will do something he's meant to do and become a better person. His face is afraid and hurt. He worries that it won't be true and that he'll be the same. The face is so young, his self-doubt so strong. I hold his face in my hands and tell him I don't care, because even if he stays the same, that's a pretty great person. What I mean is that I love him anyway. I can feel it and it hurts.
Then we're in a cobbled street and someone knows me. I'm supposed to do something. Another part I didn't understand, we follow them and we're somewhere else, a gun fired into the air and i am supposed to be there. I don't understand but the me in the dream is sobbing, and the boy is holding me tight.
Here I'm waking up.
Somewhere in between dreaming and waking I slow it down.
He doesn't want me to go, and I don't want to leave. I try to explain. there are different kinds of love, and just because you could - or do - love someone, doesn't mean you give up the love you already have. you can love an infinite amount of people in different ways and for different reasons, but you can't always be with them. i tell him he's young and fun and beautiful and maybe I could spend the rest of my life with him, but I'm already spending my life with someone else. i can't leave that life, and wouldn't want to.
Being in his arms is a painful, beautiful longing. When my eyes open, I wrap my arms around myself and let my heart ache. I want to hold on to this feeling. This passion. I miss this kind of pain.
Soon I'll forget his face and the way his voice felt in my head and how his long, slim arms felt around me.
Soon I'll forget. But I'll miss it.