Beautiful Boy

A short dream, but one that seeps between my ears frequently involves a character that I conjured up years ago. Whenever I dream about love, it glows eternally from the same beautiful man.

Last night I was simply looking into his golden eye and asking him about his world, “what are trees like there?” “They’re short and portable of course, everyone carries their own” and on and on into the evening which seemed to have been operating in a frozen pocket of time.

He often plays this trick of pausing time when he comes and goes from the scene, often at odd intervals, when someone has just spilled water on me but before it hits me, when I am running from something horrible and mean, he seems to rescue me from the oddest of scenarios and has ruined a few dreams by preventing a more exciting end. So, without further ado, I shall introduce my beautiful dreamer as he was first introduced to me.


I was on a trip with some friends to Seattle and three of us went into a cafe. Immediately one of my friends saw brad pit and his cronies sitting at a table near us. They ran over squealing, but for some reason my legs stopped working and I was frozen in my seat. They left and I grumbled into my coffee, but I was to be the lucky one. A group of people walked in and sat where they had just been, one of the party in particular drew my attention quite completely.


He looked like nobody and everybody, he was missing a nose, and he had one blue eye and one perfect gold eye. He spoke with genteel wit and his words clouded my ears to any other noises but his voice, and his words radiated heat from across the room, I was quite besotted. I kissed him on the hand but no sooner had my lips brushed his skin he went up in brilliant orange flames like an expired phoenix. All that was left was a shadow, and his one golden eye.


He was the most beautiful creature I have ever dreamed, and he begged of me to follow him, to which I readily agreed. We couldn’t see the stars, but we could hear them just fine, and the night sky was a purple soup we could eat. The people of his world were flat, and nobody had hair or fingers, but everyone could sing and dance perfectly. He said no book would ever tell me that secrets were shaped like fruits and that the world was more oval than round, really, but it was up to me to believe these things on my own someday.


He told me never to be afraid of monsters because death was the best thing to happen to anyone. He drew me far down to the bottom of a lake where I drowned and died as the most beautiful Ophelia immortal, with two, perfect, golden eyes. Death was a warm light and I was so filled with joy, but I couldn’t smile, my face was frozen and calm.


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