I keep dreaming about her
This time I remember very vividly a book I was glancing at as we were wandering in the back room of a bookstore. It was called "And They Followed the Phoenix". (a mind corruption also goes "And They Were Following the Phoenix", because for some reason the first statement feels as though it is in present tense)
I can't find it on Amazon, or using Googlefu. I'll keep looking. But I'm betting since I remember it so strongly it's the title of a book I'm going to write.
Maybe about her, and the dreams. How I have no inclination to accept her as unliving. 'Cause she's not.
I held her close a little, after chatting (and some unknown adventures earlier in the dream- a shame they were lost, I get the impression it was awesome). I had the sad thought looking into her eyes that she must be feeling some survivor's guilt, what with Jess still in a coma and all- the assumption being of course she's still alive. But we both knew what I was thinking and skipped around the subject. She felt so skinny: under her right shoulderblade was wet. She even seemed shorter than me, I don't know why.
But we wandered into the back room, and she moved off, asking in her boisterous way "Where are the real books?" I asked "You mean fiction?" and then I was looking at this book. It was kind of artistic on the cover, a bust portrait of a woman in black (hair) and red (dress/bosoms?) and tea-stain brown (skin), made of short thick lines that didn't connect on a yellow like old bones. She looked vaguely mid 18th century, but her hair looked like it was up in short ponytails poking out to either side, even though she was a woman. She looked very fine nonetheless. (top shelf of a bookshelf that curved, mostly facing a window out, right next to some short stairs leading to the upper level)
When I woke I wasn't sure I was awake. But then I knew I had been dreaming and that I was in the Bainbridge house, so I called Martin to tell him before I forgot everything. Hence this small picture.
I'm hungry so I'm going to try and eat before Ben gets here. But I wanted to get this down for myself.
I can't find it on Amazon, or using Googlefu. I'll keep looking. But I'm betting since I remember it so strongly it's the title of a book I'm going to write.
Maybe about her, and the dreams. How I have no inclination to accept her as unliving. 'Cause she's not.
I held her close a little, after chatting (and some unknown adventures earlier in the dream- a shame they were lost, I get the impression it was awesome). I had the sad thought looking into her eyes that she must be feeling some survivor's guilt, what with Jess still in a coma and all- the assumption being of course she's still alive. But we both knew what I was thinking and skipped around the subject. She felt so skinny: under her right shoulderblade was wet. She even seemed shorter than me, I don't know why.
But we wandered into the back room, and she moved off, asking in her boisterous way "Where are the real books?" I asked "You mean fiction?" and then I was looking at this book. It was kind of artistic on the cover, a bust portrait of a woman in black (hair) and red (dress/bosoms?) and tea-stain brown (skin), made of short thick lines that didn't connect on a yellow like old bones. She looked vaguely mid 18th century, but her hair looked like it was up in short ponytails poking out to either side, even though she was a woman. She looked very fine nonetheless. (top shelf of a bookshelf that curved, mostly facing a window out, right next to some short stairs leading to the upper level)
When I woke I wasn't sure I was awake. But then I knew I had been dreaming and that I was in the Bainbridge house, so I called Martin to tell him before I forgot everything. Hence this small picture.
I'm hungry so I'm going to try and eat before Ben gets here. But I wanted to get this down for myself.