(no subject)
"Dream Girl" as I've come to call her, has been popping up in my dreams more and more often lately.
For reference, she's the prostitute/ladyfriend in an earlier dream I posted here.
This is not to say she's a prostitute by nature, not by any means. In fact, very little of her nature is concrete, or even tangible.
So far, she's manifested herself as a Taxi driver, a Barrista, My wife, someone elses wife, and Partner-in-crime (Quite literally) occasionally.
On the other hand, her physical features are difficult to pin down. Aside from her eyes, which, in of themselves, are highly memorable.
Any other features I'm never sure of the next morning.
Despite that handicap, I always seem to recognize the fact that she is the same character, every single time. The idea that what she does has very little bearing on who she is. Certain elements of her remain constant. Her eyes, as I mentioned, being one. Her wry, absurdist sense of humor, yet another.
And one major constant is my own personal doubt. I always have this horrible, terrible feeling that she stays with me not because she loves me, but instead solely out of personal obligation. Whenever confronted with this possibility, she avoids answering me, or dodges the question altogether.
Regardless of whether or not this fear is true, just being near her is something akin to bliss.
Which only makes it all the worse for me upon waking, finding none of it to be true.
For reference, she's the prostitute/ladyfriend in an earlier dream I posted here.
This is not to say she's a prostitute by nature, not by any means. In fact, very little of her nature is concrete, or even tangible.
So far, she's manifested herself as a Taxi driver, a Barrista, My wife, someone elses wife, and Partner-in-crime (Quite literally) occasionally.
On the other hand, her physical features are difficult to pin down. Aside from her eyes, which, in of themselves, are highly memorable.
Any other features I'm never sure of the next morning.
Despite that handicap, I always seem to recognize the fact that she is the same character, every single time. The idea that what she does has very little bearing on who she is. Certain elements of her remain constant. Her eyes, as I mentioned, being one. Her wry, absurdist sense of humor, yet another.
And one major constant is my own personal doubt. I always have this horrible, terrible feeling that she stays with me not because she loves me, but instead solely out of personal obligation. Whenever confronted with this possibility, she avoids answering me, or dodges the question altogether.
Regardless of whether or not this fear is true, just being near her is something akin to bliss.
Which only makes it all the worse for me upon waking, finding none of it to be true.