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Literature Text
Her room is 4 doors down from mine, just one of the things about her that doesn’t make sense.
She’s beautiful
Her soft black hair pours down her head like water, stopping just short of her shoulders.
She never lets it touch her shoulders, though she likes to keep it as long as she can, respectively.
I don’t know why I know this.
She has a bright smile, of nearly perfect teeth. She’s somewhat short, and her skin is a mild brown, not denoting any specific heritage at first glance.
That’s another thing. She’s beautiful…but realistic. Possible. Not like any other “Dream Girl”
And that’s the one thing about her that, to me, makes her the most beautiful.
Her name is Amy.
Again, I don’t know why I know this.
I sit on her dark, patterned bedspread , the afternoon sun lighting her room. My back is leaned against the wall and I watch her.
She’s doing something on the computer. Homework…I think.
I can’t see the screen, and that’s just fine. My interest in it amounts to how soon til she will be finished with it.
In my hands, I play with a DVD, which we’ll be watching as soon as she’s done. I don’t know what movie it is. also strange.
Knowing her, and knowing myself, it’s a comedy though.
The phrase, “knowing her” seems weird to me, but I dismiss it quickly when she says, “Right. I’m done.”
I get up enthusiastically, and set up the movie. She finishes up, closing programs and turning off her desktop. I finish before her and jump back on her bed with the remote, lying down casually.
The ease with which I collapse onto someone else’s bed seems odd. Even with my friends, I ask before sitting down on theirs, but I just fall onto hers as though it were my own.
It makes sense suddenly as Amy jumps and lands next to me, partially on me. The pain I feel is as nothing.
She squirms around to better view the small TV sitting on her fridge. Then raises her open hand, signaling that she would like the remote. I give it up without a thought, and wrap my arms around her, holding her close.
The movie starts, but I’m not paying attention. I don’t even hear it in the background.
I’m listening to the sound of her breathing, the scent of her body-wash as it’s slowly being drowned out by her natural aroma. Enjoying the simple feeling of her body, so close to mine.
I’m immersed in her presence, a smile slowly creeps onto my face.
My eyes open. The world is blurry, not just because my contact lenses aren’t in.
They close, and open again. The bright white of the wall blinds me slightly.
I’m lying in bed…
my bed.
It’s morning, not afternoon. I’m just waking up.
I clench my eyes shut and think to myself, “No! Damnit! Noooo!”
How many was this? The third, fourth? The same dream, the same damn dream!
I’m upset that it was violently ripped away, but much more that it happened in the first place. That it KEEPS happening.
She’s perfect, and that’s not the problem. Not by a long shot.
No.
The problem is…she’s not real, she doesn’t exist. She doesn’t fucking exist!
(I have to somehow convince myself of this.)
I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t
It hurts too much. Pining for that which I cannot have.
I turn over and shut my eyes, wanting to cry.
For some reason I don’t understand…I can’t.
She’s beautiful
Her soft black hair pours down her head like water, stopping just short of her shoulders.
She never lets it touch her shoulders, though she likes to keep it as long as she can, respectively.
I don’t know why I know this.
She has a bright smile, of nearly perfect teeth. She’s somewhat short, and her skin is a mild brown, not denoting any specific heritage at first glance.
That’s another thing. She’s beautiful…but realistic. Possible. Not like any other “Dream Girl”
And that’s the one thing about her that, to me, makes her the most beautiful.
Her name is Amy.
Again, I don’t know why I know this.
I sit on her dark, patterned bedspread , the afternoon sun lighting her room. My back is leaned against the wall and I watch her.
She’s doing something on the computer. Homework…I think.
I can’t see the screen, and that’s just fine. My interest in it amounts to how soon til she will be finished with it.
In my hands, I play with a DVD, which we’ll be watching as soon as she’s done. I don’t know what movie it is. also strange.
Knowing her, and knowing myself, it’s a comedy though.
The phrase, “knowing her” seems weird to me, but I dismiss it quickly when she says, “Right. I’m done.”
I get up enthusiastically, and set up the movie. She finishes up, closing programs and turning off her desktop. I finish before her and jump back on her bed with the remote, lying down casually.
The ease with which I collapse onto someone else’s bed seems odd. Even with my friends, I ask before sitting down on theirs, but I just fall onto hers as though it were my own.
It makes sense suddenly as Amy jumps and lands next to me, partially on me. The pain I feel is as nothing.
She squirms around to better view the small TV sitting on her fridge. Then raises her open hand, signaling that she would like the remote. I give it up without a thought, and wrap my arms around her, holding her close.
The movie starts, but I’m not paying attention. I don’t even hear it in the background.
I’m listening to the sound of her breathing, the scent of her body-wash as it’s slowly being drowned out by her natural aroma. Enjoying the simple feeling of her body, so close to mine.
I’m immersed in her presence, a smile slowly creeps onto my face.
My eyes open. The world is blurry, not just because my contact lenses aren’t in.
They close, and open again. The bright white of the wall blinds me slightly.
I’m lying in bed…
my bed.
It’s morning, not afternoon. I’m just waking up.
I clench my eyes shut and think to myself, “No! Damnit! Noooo!”
How many was this? The third, fourth? The same dream, the same damn dream!
I’m upset that it was violently ripped away, but much more that it happened in the first place. That it KEEPS happening.
She’s perfect, and that’s not the problem. Not by a long shot.
No.
The problem is…she’s not real, she doesn’t exist. She doesn’t fucking exist!
(I have to somehow convince myself of this.)
I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t
It hurts too much. Pining for that which I cannot have.
I turn over and shut my eyes, wanting to cry.
For some reason I don’t understand…I can’t.
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READ THE POEM FIRST!!!! THEN READ THE REST OF THIS!!!!
Again! Read the poem before going on!!!!!
Well, I know I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Poems are always better when they rhyme!
But I felt if I worked on getting the rhyme scheme down, it would have taken away from the feelings that inspired the poem, y'know? This is, more or less, the first draft, nearly unedited. Keeps the “raw” feeling in.
Kay, enough technical stuff.
For like 4 days…nights, I’ve been having the same dream, about this girl I don’t know, and never met. At first, I had no idea what it was about, but I came to realize that, at least in this dream world, she was my girlfriend, maybe something more. Everything I stated in the poem, I derived from the dreams, so they’re true as far as my mind will allow me to believe them to be. (read it again if you didn’t understand it the first time. It makes sense to me.)
I’m always very happy in these dreams, but am very sad when I return to real consciousness again. Not so much cuz it was a good dream that I’m sad not to be dreaming anymore, but that I know that I shouldn’t be torturing myself with these…these fantasies. It wouldn’t be so bad, except that it’s a reasonably realistic fantasy, and one that I want really bad. I don’t know if any one of you has ever experienced something like this before, but it really makes me sad.
After this morning’s dream… or well yesterday morning’s (it’s 1:09 am now) the idea of this poem worked its way into my head, and I wrote it out. I knew I had to post it, just so at least one other person could read it (and I didn‘t really trust anyone in my dorm to take it really seriously, y‘know?). I know that I have some other works I need to get done, but I had to do this real quick, for me.
So please let me know what you think. (kn1ghtmar3, I’m particularly interested in what you have to say.) Let me know if you think it coulda been improved or anything too, but I want more genuine comments as opposed to technique comments, y’know? And if you didn‘t understand something, please ask.
Thanks!
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Comments45
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wow.. thats so sad... i can really feel all your emotions in this..