Just A Dream Girl

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man discovers that the woman he loves has been saving him from his hellish nightmares. When she leaves him, she takes away all his dreams, and he can no longer produce the same vivid dreams at night. He documents his eye-opening journey in five diary entries.

Submitted: January 05, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 05, 2012



The Dream Girl

By: left2right


Writing about it brings back the joy and the crushing pains.

Writing reminds me of the things I had in my life, things I once held so dearly, things I couldn't ever let go.

But now that it's gone, my daily habits have changed. I no longer search for her, and I no longer dream. My dreams have been taken away somehow.

A fragility in me remains exposed, and the endless grieving is held internal. The subtle emptiness is frightening, and my elevated sense of adoration in my previous life is nonexistent.

Sometimes I ask myself, why? I don't know. She was like a thief in the night, who stole my dreams away.

Wednesday, March 27th, 2005

Today is her birthday. Usually, we would have gone out to B. & Co. for dinner, and would have come back home to cut the cake and make love. I would have gotten her a cute card, with something clever written in it, and a small but significant piece of jewellery. She didn't like chocolates, or teddy bears for that matter. I told her that she was making my life much harder, but then again, she loved frustrating me. We would plan to celebrate on a Saturday so we could have the whole day off, but there wasn't too much planning that happened this year. Yes, tonight turned out differently.

It was a long and wet walk from work, and I was exhausted. I put my bags in my room, and walked straight into the living room. Our living room isn't much, but it's cozy. In one corner we have a picture of our retriever Torino, named after the Italian city we visited last summer break. He died in a freak accident. On the other end of the room sat my treasured baseball trophy. It's the only thing that I could associate with my father. Baseball.

As I entered the living room, she stared at me awkwardly.

"How was your day?" she asked. She never asked how my day was, ever.

"Good, good. I have something for you, happy birthday."

I gave her the card and the aquamarine birthstone necklace that ate up quite a bit of my wallet last week.

"Oh! You didn't have to. But it's beautiful," she twirled the necklace around in the light, "Thank you."

We sat there on the couch for a while, in complete silence. What seemed like a lifetime was actually only thirteen seconds. I counted. She broke the silence.

"I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I'm moving out."

I didn't know how to respond, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, I... I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Myself. It's me."

"If that's what you want to do, do it. Don't worry about me." I am the worst liar in the world, and she knew it.

"We'll keep in touch. Thanks for understanding."

Then she was gone, just like that.

Thursday, March 28, 2005

I didn't sleep at all last night; I kept repeating the scene of how it all happened over and over again. I really don't think it was my fault, I don't think it was me. It couldn't have been. The past couple days, things were a bit odd. She didn't laugh at my jokes or even recognize my presence around her. It's a bit frightening if two people who are living under the same roof barely communicate. I didn't want to question her intentions, but whenever I asked if she was okay, all she told me was "Yeah, I'm fine," or, "Don't worry about me."

I cried last night, but what I lost weren't tears. They were memories. It was as if my brain was doing a self dump, to ensure that I didn't crack under the pressure.

I went to work and in the eyes of all the patients I saw that day, I saw her. It was a surreal feeling, and I reached a threshold. I couldn't handle it, and I left the children's hospital an hour early. I got an on-call to cover for me.

Friday, September 22, 2005

I haven't written for a while, but not much has changed. Tomorrow will be the half-year mark since she left me. I'm still confused but I'm having some revelations about the happenings.

Only a year ago, I had magnificent dreams. They were in colour and for the couple of seconds, minutes, or hours during my unconsciousness, I was in my own world.

Once, I had a dream of my father and me going to the Rottersville Stadium. Inside the stadium there was a decent baseball field, full size. It was just us two, early in the morning. He would throw me curveballs, fastballs, and knuckle balls, and I would've hit them all. I would've hit them hard. Far away. They'd rip off the bat, and the aftershock which came to my fingertips would send a shockwave down my spine. It was an addictive feeling.

The shockwave hitting me now is her absence. I haven't been dreaming. Night after night, I wait, expecting to go back to that field sometime during my sleep. But no, the dream never arrives, nor do I dream at all. In reality, I don't think my father would've ever invested the time to take me to an actual stadium.

Saturday, September 23, 2005

I gained interest in watching reality television for some reason. Why? Only God knows.

After having watched enough television for the day, I set out for a walk. There was a nice cool breeze, and autumn was finally starting to show herself. I love autumn; it is my favourite time of the year. The leaves start to tinge into bloody patches of red, and soon they all fall to the ground, making a sea of fire over the previous inferno of green.

I contemplated on whether or not I should pick up the groceries on the way back from my walk, and my reasoning triumphed. When I got into the store, I grabbed a shopping cart and headed straight for the dairy section. I needed milk. To be more specific: two percent, lactose-free.

After I got the milk, I started heading for the checkout, but something, or someone, had caught my eye. I looked back again. It was her. No, it couldn't be. Yeah, it was her, it was definitely her. And she had seen me too.

She made a très gauche attempt to recognize me, but I instinctively backed away. I headed to the checkout, and so did she.

I went home that day, wondering what it would have been like to speak to her again. I wondered why I couldn't approach her. It had been so long.

Why didn't I even say hello?

Sunday, September 24, 2005

I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I had an old Nokia, and I had kept it only for its ringtone. It was five-thirty in the morning.

I answered, "Hello?"

It was her. "Hi, it's me. How are you?"

"I'm well, how have you been?"

"Okay. We need to talk. I have things to explain."

"When and where?"

"In four hours, today. B. & Co."

"Do they open that early?"

"I know the people. I'll see you then."

"Okay, I'll be there." She hung up.

I put my cell phone on the nightstand, and I had so many different questions floating around in my head. Why did she call? What is it that she wants to tell me? Why B. & Co.?

I spent three hours wandering the house, muttering to myself. Soon enough, it was nine-thirty.

B. & Co. was quite a formal restaurant, so I dressed for the location, not the occasion. Okay, maybe a little for the occasion.

She was waiting for me in the middle of the dining hall. She looked different. I didn't know what it was about her, but she was different. I walked towards her as nonchalantly as my legs would allow me to, and she approached me with open arms. We embraced.

She spoke first. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It has."

"Please, take a seat."

I pulled a chair back and sat down.

The conversation that ensued I will sum up into a much shorter description, for we were there from nine-thirty until one-forty five in the afternoon and the dialogue would have been too heavy for this journal entry.

In our conversation, she told me that while we were together, she had been protecting me from my inner darkness. If she had allowed me to dream, I would have fallen prey to my own nightmares. She was also knowledgeable about something that I had never shared with her, or anyone else for that matter - my father. Although I only had a few memories of my father, those few memories stuck with me. They emerged into what I had seen in my dreams. Those dreams had painted the silhouette of the father I believe him to be today. I no longer distinguished between reality and fiction.

She had been obligated to help cleanse me of the hellish dreams, even if they may have seemed colourful and enticing to believe in. When she was done her job of cleansing, she had to leave - for she had others to save. She couldn't grow emotionally attached to anyone she was rescuing, but she did. She had fallen in love with me by accident, it wasn't meant to happen. Only by leaving me could she uphold her purpose on this earth. To her, she had made a horrible mistake.

It was precisely one-forty four in the afternoon when we said our final farewells, and she was gone. She left swiftly like a thief in the night.

She hadn't stolen my dreams; she had just rescued me from my nightmares.

© Copyright 2018 left2right. All rights reserved.

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