tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82369613798907132412011-09-30T11:07:39.321-07:00Krakowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548206450562960621noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8236961379890713241.post-23922559313487942032011-01-01T22:44:00.000-08:002011-01-01T22:46:09.538-08:00They are just dreams. I know that. But my&nbsp;subconscious&nbsp;doesn't, and I want to keep it that way.<br />A girl knocked on my door. She was nervous, as I was. It ended up that she asked me out for lunch, so we went on a date. That was the first dream.<br />Every night after that first one I have had a dream. Me and her sitting on a park bench oblivious to the world around us. All we do is talk. The weather, sports, politics, anything my mind wants to get out.<br />I can't shake the feeling that she is not just a figment of my imagination. It has gotten so that I cannot wait to get to sleep to be able to talk to her again. Now it's hard to differentiate between what is dream and what is reality. And I am ok with that. I just wonder if she is out there sitting on a park bench, waiting for me...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8236961379890713241-2392255931348794203?l=onomatopoetic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Krakowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548206450562960621noreply@blogger.com0