Status: In progress
The Difference Between California and New York
Chapter 3
I dreamt of Luke that night.
But less than a dream, it was merely he and I sitting at the bus stop waiting; but the bus never comes. It’s just us sitting and talking, looking and listening, enjoying the company of the other. It was a boring dream, really. No monsters or explosions, no psychedelic atmosphere where people have lizard heads and speak gibberish; just two people sitting and talking at a New York bus stop in the dead of night, for the entire night.
And it was beautiful.
But terrible.
I don’t want to dream about him. I want to forget about him. I will never in my life see that man again, and even if I do, chances are slim that he would remember an irrelevant and insignificant person he met at the bus stop like me. And even so, with how often he said he travels, he and I may never run in the same circles ever again. And even more so, he just got out of a relationship. He probably still loves this other girl, which I can’t blame him for. No one just falls out of love at the drop of a hat. It was useless to dream about him, or think about him, or even wonder about him.
But I still did.
But I couldn’t understand it. He was just a simple man. He was the same face as the millions of people I pass on the streets every day; irrelevant in every way to every aspect of my life. So why did I dream of him?
I didn’t want to answer myself.
But less than a dream, it was merely he and I sitting at the bus stop waiting; but the bus never comes. It’s just us sitting and talking, looking and listening, enjoying the company of the other. It was a boring dream, really. No monsters or explosions, no psychedelic atmosphere where people have lizard heads and speak gibberish; just two people sitting and talking at a New York bus stop in the dead of night, for the entire night.
And it was beautiful.
But terrible.
I don’t want to dream about him. I want to forget about him. I will never in my life see that man again, and even if I do, chances are slim that he would remember an irrelevant and insignificant person he met at the bus stop like me. And even so, with how often he said he travels, he and I may never run in the same circles ever again. And even more so, he just got out of a relationship. He probably still loves this other girl, which I can’t blame him for. No one just falls out of love at the drop of a hat. It was useless to dream about him, or think about him, or even wonder about him.
But I still did.
But I couldn’t understand it. He was just a simple man. He was the same face as the millions of people I pass on the streets every day; irrelevant in every way to every aspect of my life. So why did I dream of him?
I didn’t want to answer myself.