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I am sitting comfortably on a warm soft pillow/bean bag chair kinda thing. The lights are very soft hues of blue and grey. Although they are low and it is dark, this is not a cold darkness. It's nothingness is comforting. There is no question that I am alone, no worry that there is something in this place hiding, biding its time before it can strike out at me. This void fills me and warms me. It is the first presence in my dream. I am three seconds into all this when an orange light reveals the second pressence in my dream. A man, young, twenties, wearing a well loved white T-shirt (logo indecipherable.... afterall, there are no product placements in dreams), arms hanging to his sides much like his greasy yellow brown hair, a pair of jeans probably three wearings into the laundry cycle. His eyes are his most memorable feature, which is why, even now, I can not remember them. They are my own eyes without my own self-loathing. He lets me enjoy being seen without judgement, something I assume he wishes he had experienced. I am warm, content, calm, close to tears, filled with beauty, am beauty, am alone. He says, "You see....." Then grabs my hand and points to something I am ashamed of. A large wart on my thumb. "You see... we're the same." And he shows me his right hand. 23 seconds into my dream. I am this wart. I am his wart. I am our hand, am us, am me. This is the perfect temperature, the perfect humidity, the perfect part of the perfect song, and it is all ugly because of it's unusually sincere beauty. I am the realization of this dream, the disapearance of this man, the waking from this stage, the thirtieth second of my dream. |
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