giant snowflakes in the summertime
In my dream, we had seen a band the night before, and I found an excuse to visit your apartment. You claimed you were free, but I was continually washing dishes, afraid to speak to you, feeling awkward as usual - I can never seem to speak around you, not to you, anyway. And Rian resented being dragged along, so she wouldn't be charming.
At one point, she and I sang. You commented on my vocal style, and I think it pleased you. Then we all sat outside your apartment, and it began to snow. The snowflakes were massive, the size of human hands, and one could see every detail in each unique flake. I fell in love with the snow, but you were preoccupied, disinterested, in a mood. I thought this might be transference, and it was frustrating.
My phone rang. Jeff was calling to talk to me about the lovely snow and was I busy Friday? He was planning a trip from Galveston. I ended the call and went inside to escape the chill. You made it seem as if Rian and I should leave. Rian quickly said goodbye to wait in the car. I lingered.
And somehow, suddenly, we were close, closer than we've ever been. I looked into your eyes and then watched your lips form the words, "Is there a chance in fifty-five years that you'd ever--." And I thought what an odd number 55 is, but then I stopped thinking as I leaned in to kiss you in response.
Small, sweet, chaste kisses filled with longing and promise.
You sputtered, Friday night, will you go out with me? I kissed you again and said no. But Saturday is fine and what's wrong with right now? And then it became less real and more obviously fantasy. Freud slipped in and fucked it all up.
You were a funeral director, and my Dad easily scared you. Then my parents' friend Sally tried to seduce you (as a compliment to me?). You were already breaking away, though we had just begun to steal kisses and try to know each other. I woke up, and then dreamt that I told someone this story, and they guessed it was you right away: "It's obvious." So I kept it to myself, afraid, as usual of taking a chance on something wonderful.
This must be the result of Frosted Flakes and the BBC's Pride and Prejudice just before bed. And I am sad to know it was only a dream: I couldn't smell your strangely familiar scent when we kissed.
At one point, she and I sang. You commented on my vocal style, and I think it pleased you. Then we all sat outside your apartment, and it began to snow. The snowflakes were massive, the size of human hands, and one could see every detail in each unique flake. I fell in love with the snow, but you were preoccupied, disinterested, in a mood. I thought this might be transference, and it was frustrating.
My phone rang. Jeff was calling to talk to me about the lovely snow and was I busy Friday? He was planning a trip from Galveston. I ended the call and went inside to escape the chill. You made it seem as if Rian and I should leave. Rian quickly said goodbye to wait in the car. I lingered.
And somehow, suddenly, we were close, closer than we've ever been. I looked into your eyes and then watched your lips form the words, "Is there a chance in fifty-five years that you'd ever--." And I thought what an odd number 55 is, but then I stopped thinking as I leaned in to kiss you in response.
Small, sweet, chaste kisses filled with longing and promise.
You sputtered, Friday night, will you go out with me? I kissed you again and said no. But Saturday is fine and what's wrong with right now? And then it became less real and more obviously fantasy. Freud slipped in and fucked it all up.
You were a funeral director, and my Dad easily scared you. Then my parents' friend Sally tried to seduce you (as a compliment to me?). You were already breaking away, though we had just begun to steal kisses and try to know each other. I woke up, and then dreamt that I told someone this story, and they guessed it was you right away: "It's obvious." So I kept it to myself, afraid, as usual of taking a chance on something wonderful.
This must be the result of Frosted Flakes and the BBC's Pride and Prejudice just before bed. And I am sad to know it was only a dream: I couldn't smell your strangely familiar scent when we kissed.