dreaming in flight

(This was written a few days ago, but eh.)

About seventeen thousand feet in the air, I dreamt of you.  We were at a party, and we finally had a conversation where I didn’t stutter and shake whenever you were around.  I don’t remember exactly how I loved you, but I remember that I did.  God, did I love you so hard.  And at that time, when I was still peering from my twelve-year old set of eyes, I never saw the reasons why I loved you but only what I saw on the surface.  I was shallow like that, and it is still a characteristic I carry within me even up until today, and you are nine years old an issue already.

As the minutes pass, I forget what we talked about, but I could only remember bits of it.  We were talking about dream jobs, and you told me something that I cannot recall now in reality, as it is (1) three in the goddamn morning, and (2) I am uncomfortably bloated and seated on a seat that’s going to make my butt hurt for ten hours.  It’s amazing how I can even write at this hour, knowing that what I want more than ever is to rest my head on a pillow and roll around in the covers of home.

I wish we found grounds of decency instead of shallowness and petty reason.  I know you’re brilliant in your own right (you’re in pre-med now, or something? I don’t know, but I remember you graduating), and maybe we could have been equals in terms of mindsets, except now I don’t know you beyond that one time I snuck a peek at your Facebook.  Your brother is the more open one, I guess, but he too is a stranger to me.

I guess it had to take a lot of growing up (and a lot of crushes more) to realize this, that I would have wanted to speak with you as an equal, and not as a stuttering simpleton who only found reason to live in the way you smile.  You’re more than just that, and it’s obvious anyway.

But that’s me, always banking on sentimentality and shadows.

Someday, I do owe you that conversation though. Maybe.

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