"Dreams are made winding through my head"
I beat up someone I hang out with on weekends, a little bloody. I ran from the police through a distorted version of my hometown, seeing as they finally put a gas station on that vacant corner across from the car shop, down the street from the bike trail. That, and the streets of my moderately populated town were packed like Mardi Gras. The girl I was hitting on at a party last week was spreading rumors about me cheating on my then ex-girlfriend. The studio executives had to tear down my room so that a season of Oz could be filmed there. Some other friends were tossing clay pizzas up into the trees and it looked like the melting clocks from a Dali painting, hanging from the branches. Then there was my Gramma...just as I remembered her, before the stroke, before she fell down the stairs. We hugged and held each other for what seemed like a perfect eternity. Then she looked down at her aged, thin skin, so smooth...I just told her 'I don't know why' I don't know why things have to grow old and die. I told her I loved her. It might sound crazy but I felt her presence, that peaceful, caring warmth, her smile. God I miss my Gramma sometimes. Life's been telling me to stop being so afraid in these subtle ways lately, through dreams, through old men on the bike trail shouting random things like 'be not afraid!' as they pass by on their schwinn bicycles...I'm glad my dreams came back to me, I missed dreams so much, but then again I was holding myself back so long. At least there's forgiveness in this world, even for a twisted up bastard like me.
I beat up someone I hang out with on weekends, a little bloody. I ran from the police through a distorted version of my hometown, seeing as they finally put a gas station on that vacant corner across from the car shop, down the street from the bike trail. That, and the streets of my moderately populated town were packed like Mardi Gras. The girl I was hitting on at a party last week was spreading rumors about me cheating on my then ex-girlfriend. The studio executives had to tear down my room so that a season of Oz could be filmed there. Some other friends were tossing clay pizzas up into the trees and it looked like the melting clocks from a Dali painting, hanging from the branches. Then there was my Gramma...just as I remembered her, before the stroke, before she fell down the stairs. We hugged and held each other for what seemed like a perfect eternity. Then she looked down at her aged, thin skin, so smooth...I just told her 'I don't know why' I don't know why things have to grow old and die. I told her I loved her. It might sound crazy but I felt her presence, that peaceful, caring warmth, her smile. God I miss my Gramma sometimes. Life's been telling me to stop being so afraid in these subtle ways lately, through dreams, through old men on the bike trail shouting random things like 'be not afraid!' as they pass by on their schwinn bicycles...I'm glad my dreams came back to me, I missed dreams so much, but then again I was holding myself back so long. At least there's forgiveness in this world, even for a twisted up bastard like me.