Dreaming about . . . someone

The dream was long and I think I was in Spain for a while, in a bar with some old middle school classmates. We were drinking and eating in a bar at the bottom floor of an old medieval building. It was late, it was night and the streets were narrow and cobblestoned.

Then, there was him.

Him, the blond.
Him, the blue eyed.
Him, the tall and thin.
Him, the sun tanned.

Him, the embodiment of all the boys I secretly crushed on and who never even knew I existed.
Him, who makes me feel uncomfortable and delighted at the same time.
Him, I feel fifteen again.
Him, who makes me dream the impossible.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s