She remembered something she had never experienced before. It was a dream. It was beautiful.

She sat in her kitchen and looked like Atlas. She was thinking about how funny it is when you share something sad in your life with another, the reaction of the other is to identify; thus when you feel like shit, when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders and nothing to help lift the load, the people who care about you just keep adding their heaviness. It is like drowning above water with everyone you love; you’ll find it hard to breathe, you’ll die, but they’ll keep holding on and you’ll never be alone.

She remembered a dream and it was beautiful. In this dream…

She looked at her hands. They felt useless. She couldn’t hold him anymore, even if she wanted to; not in good conscience. Her pale appendages were too skilled at tearing where it needs to mend. She felt like a surgeon with only the tools to cut. She hated her hands for that.

In this dream she felt alien in her own skin and then she realized, This is joy.

She felt selfish for the first time in her life. She had slowly been learning to accept her anger– that it is okay to be angry sometimes. That she was okay. But it was consuming her. She was burning like a house, from the inside out, and the flames had no where to go but out with her. Soon she would be ash, wasted by years of anger that she never felt was okay to share. She hoped she would be fine. And then she thought, What the fuck do okay and fine mean?

In this dream she could feel the infinite connectivity of everything.

Two dishes sat in the sink like monuments. The pizza box looked like a tombstone next to the trashbin. The mood she was in was dictated by melancholy and bouts of existential thought, both of which are harsh rulers. It made her think of the girl who sold her the pizza; was she going to college? And the boy who rolled the dough; what did he think of when he performed this task of tedium? Did he too dream of a glorious day like she did? And what of the cows whose milk made the mozzarella? What pasture did they munch green lackadaisically? She hoped it was a place of verdant green serenity. And then she tried to ignore the dishes, ignore the second plate that she had been blatantly ignoring all week and there it sat like an electric blue elephant in the room, mean muggin’ her until she soldiered herself out of her melancholy stupor long enough to do the damn dishes.

In her dream she was almost weightless, all feather-wisp and no anchor. She understood for once how simple it all was, how intrinsic everything is to everything. That she was not drowning with everyone; she was the water, floating life chaotic.

She felt better after she did the dishes, more like herself. She was going to be okay if she just kept doing the dishes.

She remembered something she had never experienced before. It was a dream. It was beautiful.



  1. You are a true GENIUS. Seriously.

    1. Thank you so much for your support of my writing. I really appreciate it. And your words are very touching, although I feel nothing like a genius. :}

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