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  • You can believe in whatever you want to.
    I think we are much smarter than we realize.
    I believe in dream time travel and other such unproven nonsense.

    I dreamt of this place before I had ever been there, in person. This year, my husband and I went to Nashville, and were driving around the city, slightly lost. I looked out the passenger window, and gasped when I saw this house on the bridge. I exclaimed to him, "I've had a dream of this exact same bridge. I even wrote about the dream once. "
    He believed me and remembered me talking about the dream, and how the doors were put on inside out.

    Here's the story, of a dream. Written on June 19th, 2012.
    The photo, above, taken on August 19th, 2012.

    Weird things happen.

    June 19th, 2012

    I dream a lot about you. You should feel flattered, I suppose, if that’s your sorta thing.

    Last night, in my dream we were talking about all the things and places that I had ruined for you, and I was apologizing to you as we were walking in some industrialized city. Some place that I’ve never been to, but know exists. Some place with big steel bridges, big old warehouses, bright graffiti on the bricks. Some place that is close to the water though. Maybe like Detroit, if Detroit were ever a cool city, or a nice place to be walking around in. It felt hip, and raw, and just like us. The weather was grey but not cold, warm but not sunny. The city was working but hurt, breathing with energy.

    And as I was apologizing, I remember thinking that it would be easier to just go back to all of those places that I’ve ruined for you. Go back and make new memories in the old places, so that the last thing that we remember would change.
    We could go back to your house and try something better. Something that wouldn’t later leave you feeling sick inside. Something tamer. Something less wild.
    We could coexist and have fun and not ruin it by the end of the night, or have the next morning be filled with longing or regret. You said to me once, "I don’t really regret anything," and I was so glad to hear it, because I don’t regret you either. But I love you, and it makes life harder, sometimes.

    But, as I was excitedly going to tell you my idea, I realized that some of these places don’t exist anymore. Some of these places have been taken to the ground, and all that really does remain are the memories of the place and the time that we were there. Our dust is mixed with the dirt. Nothing remains that can be changed.

    Maybe it was all my fault. Maybe I should be apologizing.

    I’m sorry, I like longing.
    I like feeling sick sometimes and not being able to get out of bed.
    I like sometimes gagging as I brush my teeth.
    I like knowing that my body feels something that my mind has not yet caught onto.
    I like wanting the impossible.
    I like building things up in my mind and watching them come to fruition.
    I hate doing tame things.
    I hate being bored.
    I’d rather go out with a bang, or just stay home and forget that there ever was a party.

    In the dream, when you came to my house, which was not the house I live in now, but one from the future, one that was more rustic and modern, with old oak floors and loft skylights, on the top floor of a warehouse with a A-framed roof; you sat down on this big white sherpa rug in the living room. Purposefully not sitting on the couches, but on the floor. I was fluttering around in my kitchen trying to act like I was busy so that I wouldn’t just come running to you. I remember telling myself in a stern voice not to sleep with you. Just to talk to you. Not to run my fingers through your hair and watch your face change. Just to laugh with you. Not to let you get to me, get under my skin, take me out of my clothes and convince me again that there was a place where you and I could coexist peacefully together. Peacefully, not just flirtatiously, not just like some nervous teenage girl who can’t speak when she’s around you and just starts acting out her wildest dreams. That you and I could behave calmly, I could become settled when around you. Remembering myself and the stark reminder that this can only occur, apparently when I am naked and next to you.

    See, we have made rules and boundaries to prevent all of this.

    We walked out of the house without touching.

    I went to lock my door while we were in the hallway. Took out the keys from my jacket. Locking the door to my house, noticing that the doors had been put on backwards – the place where the key goes was on the inside of the house, and the deadbolt and chain was on the outside. I remember looking at my neighbors door and noticing that it was the same – and thinking that I should tell someone to switch the knobs so that they faced the right way, and we could lock ourselves out of the house, instead of locking ourselves in.

    I remember the long delay in the hallway, thinking about how everyone else was locked into their house. That we would hear the key unlocking the door. That we would know. Thinking this would be a safe place to kiss you. Looking up at you and knowing that you had the same thought too. And whispering quickly and quietly, “we better go.”

    We went for a walk to a little hut in the middle of a bridge – I think it sold hotdogs or newspapers or something that those little huts do. I remember walking next to you – you were wearing some sort of worn red flannel that was soft when I would brush up against it. I bought a Coca-Cola, in a glass bottle. We walked to the water, onto the bridge, looking out at this city. The entire time we were walking, I was wondering if you still liked me, and if you did still, then asking myself why you had been so mean to me lately.

    I guess I was mad at you a little for the way you have been behaving towards me – passive aggressive and just hurtful to be hurtful. I felt like I could watch you say these shitty things, like a slow motion cartoon, short derogatory slurs coming out of your mouth like a speech bubble. Just angry for the sake of being angry. Or angry to hide the hurt that riddled you inside. And part of me wanted to let you feel hurt and sad and whatever else you felt towards me, toward yourself, and to let you do it in silent seething. Let you sit alone in your house on the cold, lonely nights. Change my name, change my number, swear you off, and never talk to you again.

    And the other part, the part that I resented the most because I knew it would be what I would do, what I knew was right to do, what felt like the most natural, normal thing to do, was to let you act in all those ways, and then hold you. Take your glasses off, wipe your eyes with the back of my hands, and tell you it was okay. Not like a lover, but like a friend. Arms wrapped around you so tightly that it would feel as close to love as I could possibly express to you. I would tell you not to worry, that we had gone through enough. We knew love, longing, hatred, and resentment, and we could let it all go. We could forget it. Burn it in private, and start anew.

    "We are from another time" you say to me as you take me home and drive away.
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