Lights…Camera…Fashion! The Re-creation of a Dream

My heart stuttered as I clumsily flew through hallways and practically soared down a flight of narrow, poorly lit stairs. Where is he? Where is he? My mind was frenetic. Finally, I throw myself though a swinging door to reach the bar. My eyes scan over the men behind the bar nervously – he wasn’t one of them. My heart fell and landed on my stomach with a thud, and it continued to shudder in panic at its new location. I knew that I had to leave that morning, and I hadn’t told him goodbye yet. I had to tell him goodbye, to see his face one last time.

How many times can you remember a dream that was so vivid that it was practically real? It’s awful, right? Because then you wake up furious or in despair because it wasn’t real life. But how many times can you remember what you were wearing in your dream? I going to try my best to find an outfit that matches exactly what I remember. But back to my dream….

“Do you know where (insert the love of my life’s name here) is?” I ask one of the bartenders.

“No, he hasn’t come to work yet.”

“I need to see him. I need to. Please!” I’m breathless and on the verge of hopeless as a practically beg the guy to help me find him.

“Hmm…he could be here…” he leads me through a dark hallway and I can see the sunlight at the end of the hallway (a light at the end of the tunnel – haha) and we come into what looks like a barn, and then outside. It’s overcast, and we’re walking around in a rather random fashion. All of a sudden, I realize that I had to meet my friends at a certain time before we left.

“What time is it?” I force out of my mouth with anxiety. Whatever time the guy said back, it was way beyond the time I was going to meet my friends and my brain has a conniption. I am so scared that I feel like I want to crawl out my skin. We wander up a set of stairs to another bar and….praise God, there he is. My heart flies off my stomach and into my throat, suffocating me with bittersweet joy. I float over to the bar and just stand there until he notices me.  He turns that perfect face over towards me and raises his eyebrows.

“Oh….I get a chance to say goodbye to you.” he says in that ridiculously charming voice. He pauses and adds “I was going to ask you…” he trails off like he can’t remember what he was going to say. I happily try to assist him.

“To marry me?” I nervously chirp.

“What?” he can’t hear because it’s too loud inside. He leans in towards me, extending his ear near me. He was so outrageously close that I couldn’t help myself. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my face against his cheek as I repeat  “To marry me?” When he hears me, he practically tosses me from him. I sit back down and he looks me in the eye.

“Love (he used to always call me that)…” he trails off for a while and then starts talking again. I can hear his voice, but he isn’t saying words. It’s as if he speaking in another language, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying….and yet I know the gist of it.  He’s telling me it’s a lie. That he never liked me. That he gave me those flowers and blew those kisses at me because he knew that I liked him. But it doesn’t mean anything. He keeps looking at me, trying to gauge what to say based on my reaction, but I bite my dark red lips and stare at my gray stiletto clad feet. I cross my legs in my matching gray short skirt and quiver. I look at him. I look down. I look at him. I look down. While I repeat this, I can hear weird noises in the background….the washing machine. Then I get it: it’s a dream. All of a sudden, I’d rather be heart-broken with an illusion of him in front of me than heart-broken and all alone. But it’s too late – I’m awake.

While I am still moping about over my dream, I also can’t get over the fact that I can remember my outfit distinctly.

It might look a little something like this:

5.5 Inch Louboutins.....

With a skirt from Diane Von Furstenberg. A cute, gray retro pencil skirt – but it was a little shorter than this one. And then this Herringbone blazer from Gucci. Put it all together and you have this chic-businesswoman look.

Sure, the outfit may be cool, but I’d rather my sweet bartender in my grasp. No pair of Louboutins can make you roses out of napkins, no blazer can blow you kisses, and skirts can’t dry tears. Yes, life can be misery, can’t it? He was no figment of my imagination – he was real. Those flowers and drink that you can see when you hover over my Gravatar? Those are from him, and I still have the flowers on display in my room. I miss him more than anything…..wherever you are, darling, volim te ❤


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