Dreams: The Blond and The Rabbit
In this dream
I am carrying an enormous burlap backpack full of books with blue covers. It hurts to walk, the weight is too much to carry. Men in white vans keep rolling down their windows to ask if I want a ride. They whistle, jeer, and call me “the blond� which is odd considering I am a brunette. I shake my head and wait for the next van to pull up, wondering how long I can hold out before I accept a ride.
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In this dream
I am on campus walking out of class. He comes up next to me on my right side and touches my arm. I worry my heart is beating too fast for its delicate tissue; it may explode from stress like a rabbit, staining my ribcage with tomato juice. His arms glide around my sides and I fall into the familiarity of his body against mine.
I forget that he once pillaged my body and burned the soil of my soul.
I forget that his hands are nail files.
I forget that his body is a dying fish gasping and flopping on the deck of my breast.
I only remember how much I loved the smell of his laugh and the taste of his smile.