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The Color of Your Eyes
I don't understand, you know that? I mean, it was a dream, but why would it happen twice for no reason? The world doesn't work that way, does it? Should I wait for another, since the third time's the charm?
I barely remember the first dream. It was a dream, after all. I only remember the idea of punishment, and you being there in that white room wearing your famous hoodie.
I woke up that morning and went to school in an exaggerated daze I didn't understand. It made no sense to me why I should dream about you. (Or at least that's what I said.) So I wandered through the day feeling like all the pieces of myself were floating apart, and laughing when a piece detached altogether, and hoping no one suspected me.
I looked around for you that day. I couldn't find you until I sat still and thought logically. It hurt, but I worked through the logistics and found you anyway.
Anyway, then I found you and you were a tree. A tree who disappeared and it made me dispirited.
I found you again that night and you were a tree again. You were an excellent tree - plenty of people could probably pull off a dancing tree, but I don't know many people who can be a panicking tree, and you were it, and it made me laugh, and you were wonderful. The green shoes were a nice touch, by the way.
Then I saw you again and you were only half a tree. The top part of you had come off. Maybe you were floating into pieces like I was, or maybe I was imagining it, or maybe it was completely and totally logical that the top half of a tree should come off. Whatever it was, it was wonderful to see the tree that was half-you through the window as I waited for my ride.
Life went on then. Trees go up and come down and I didn't see you for a while, but I didn't see anyone. The story goes like that. But I found you again one day, in your car, leaving the parking lot, and I didn't know if it was you. It was hard to tell without sitting still and thinking logically (after all, I couldn't sit as I had a class to go to), but I think it was you and as I was staring at you, you were staring at me.
DOes that mean something? I don't know. I went to class feeling better than I had in a while. You made my day, you know that?
I had gone to do interviews that same day and met a friend of mine in the hallway. I told her about you. Almost. I told her instead I was in love with a tree. She wanted to know your name, but I didn't tell her, because some secrets are too sweet to tell. She asked me what grade you were. I told her you were a senior, and she teased me about liking older boys. She asked me what color your hair was and I told her it was brown. Then she asked about your eyes and I realized I didn't know, and I went home and looked in the yearbook and took out a magnifying glass to your picture and I still didn't know. Why must you be so mysterious?
Anyway, that was last week. Yesterday I saw you in a classroom. I'm pretty sure you saw me. I wonder if you're wondering who this girl is you keep seeing. I went past the classroom again and when I came back you were coming out. I almost managed to bump into you, but I guess you saw what was happening.
This morning I woke up and I had dreamed about you again. Only it was different this time. I remember something about goatheads, and cars going in reverse. And I remember you. You were there, and you talked to me, and you let me hug you more than once, and it was an excellent dream, and I woke up wishing I hadn’t. Woken up, that is.
I wish a lot of things. It’s what I do. I’m a wisher. But I wish I didn’t have to use logic to find you; I wish I knew the color of your eyes; I wish I had bumped completely into you. Who knows? If I’d bumped into you I might know the color of your eyes and you might know mine. The smallest of things can change the course of life, but I’ll bet you know that.
Will you give me another chance to bump into you? I promise to apologize sweetly and give you a lovely smile that will convince you I’m worth chasing. And if you let yourself be bumped into I promise I’ll make it up to you. Somehow.
I’ve no idea why I’m writing this to you. I realize I’m crazy and unrealistically hopeful and probably a bit creepy. I don’t intend to make something significant that was completely unimportant before. You can tell me it will only happen in my dreams (and most likely it will), but I want to know the color of your eyes.