Today i woke up from a dream where I was with Clint Eastwood. Not his wife. He already had one. The kind of stage wives you see from tinseltown. I was like his daughter/secret lover kinda person. Don't ask me how. It was a dream and you feel like you're invinsible in them. Most of the time.
Every evening after he was done with his shooting, he drives me up to this reservoir; kinda like the one in that 70's show, and he will teach me philosophical stuff while we cuddle around. There always was buffalo soldier playing faintly in the background. It was comforting to be held close near his chest while I queitly counted the beats of his heart; it was like the bass of a good song. The kind where albeit the fact that it's just a monotonous, standard beat, but you secretly replace it with a music rhythm of a familiar song in your own head and smile to your own amusement.
He was telling me about how he used to get pushed around in the set of futurama where he was actually zoid bobblehead, and of how he had passed those phases and is now his own man.
This was one of those dreams where I really didn't want to wake up and forced myself to fall asleep again, hoping hard that I could continue where I left off. I could not do it.
Till now as I'm mindlessly tapping my untrimmed-fingernailed fingers on the keyboard, I can't erase his signature look from my head.
What's the point of this story you ask? I'm not sure myself either. I just wanted to preserve that dream in writing I guess.
I left my windows open last night; curtains drawn and all. Right now desaria seems like a really peaceful escape. With the basketball court being slightly stained from last nights rain. I can see a couple of bostwanians walking at the perimetre of the court; with that trademark walk-with-the-slight-limp-of-yo-ing of theirs.
Sometimes I wish I could just take a second of my life to just sit back and just live in the moment; moments where everyday scenes of these take place and just enjoy it for what it is. Right now, the price to enjoy lifes little pleasures just don't come cheap no more.
Every evening after he was done with his shooting, he drives me up to this reservoir; kinda like the one in that 70's show, and he will teach me philosophical stuff while we cuddle around. There always was buffalo soldier playing faintly in the background. It was comforting to be held close near his chest while I queitly counted the beats of his heart; it was like the bass of a good song. The kind where albeit the fact that it's just a monotonous, standard beat, but you secretly replace it with a music rhythm of a familiar song in your own head and smile to your own amusement.
He was telling me about how he used to get pushed around in the set of futurama where he was actually zoid bobblehead, and of how he had passed those phases and is now his own man.
This was one of those dreams where I really didn't want to wake up and forced myself to fall asleep again, hoping hard that I could continue where I left off. I could not do it.
Till now as I'm mindlessly tapping my untrimmed-fingernailed fingers on the keyboard, I can't erase his signature look from my head.
What's the point of this story you ask? I'm not sure myself either. I just wanted to preserve that dream in writing I guess.
I left my windows open last night; curtains drawn and all. Right now desaria seems like a really peaceful escape. With the basketball court being slightly stained from last nights rain. I can see a couple of bostwanians walking at the perimetre of the court; with that trademark walk-with-the-slight-limp-of-yo-ing of theirs.
Sometimes I wish I could just take a second of my life to just sit back and just live in the moment; moments where everyday scenes of these take place and just enjoy it for what it is. Right now, the price to enjoy lifes little pleasures just don't come cheap no more.
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