(This is a reprint of something I wrote in 2007. Turns out the girl wasn't as cool as the one in my imagination, but it was cool to almost meet my dream girl.So without further adieu.... here's the deal dude.)
I've met the most amazing girl, yet I hardly know her. It's the story of my life. I'm sure she has a boyfriend. Someone like her doesn't go unnoticed. In fact, most men seek out girls like her like thirst seeks water.
But I wasn't even thirsty since I've taught myself to accept loneliness as a suitable drink for some time now. Being lonely is easy after awhile. After a year or two, it becomes habit. Honestly, I stopped looking. Until recently, I really didn't think girls like her even existed.
She's...unbelievably...undeniably...indescribably...more than this humble writer can put to words (and I know a lot of words).
She's like seeing the sunrise for the first time - everything else seems to stop as if reality was yielding to something not quite of this world. I'm not saying she's some kind of magical being from a fairy tale. Fairy tales are for children.
No, I wrote this story in college and kept it safe in my imagination, and there is where she was supposed to stay. The story was fanciful and foolish. The lady in my mind was barely from the time and space we all call existence (she could have been from Switzerland or some remote mountain village.).
But on that fateful day she was right in front of me smiling just like in my story. Even the sun seemed to dim just a bit when she came into being, and she knows.
She knows she's from my story, and still she doesn't run away, which is why I don't pursue her. I'm scared that one wrong move will wake me up.
She knows she's from my story, and still she doesn't run away, which is why I don't pursue her. I'm scared that one wrong move will wake me up.
How does this story go? I don't know. I just wrote the story up to our meeting. The rest is always interrupted by my alarm clock or the limits of reality.
And the most terrifying thing about this whole ordeal is that this real girl is more incredible than the one in the dream. That's not suppose to happen. All this was never suppose to be possible.
But hope is the rain cloud of a dreamer's parched despair.
And for once in a very long time I feel thirst again.
