three-hundred & twenty-two.
Better never to have met you in my dream than to wake and reach for hands that are not there.
Last night I dreamt that I got back in touch with my ex-best friend who moved to Kingston all those years ago. I dreamt we spent a lot of time texting on my real phone. I dreamt of going to my uncle's old apartment, wanting to make pancakes, and ending up being invited to stay for semi-mashed potatoes and ice cream while his girlfriend was there. Of rushing to catch my usual 170 bus and ending up taking it the wrong way by accident.
There was a point where I doubted the probability of the dream. I stopped myself because it was too good to be true: that I was finally friends with her again, and that all those rifts between us had been healed. And when I looked at the time on my texts, they were dated to Dec 2 and 3, so I realized that couldn't be right. I think one of the things that gave it all away was the fact that I was out in the city barefoot. Running barefoot to catch the bus, and then I had to look at the bottom of my foot to see how dirty it was.
Dreams feel real when we're in them.
But this time I knew it was strange before I even woke up.