“Whenever I’ve been faced with a fork in the road and didn’t know which way to go, something always guided me and it was always for the better.” says the gentle man, sporadically slipping through dream days.
His eyebrows are thick and bushy. As he talks they move amicably up and down like plump, hairy, grey caterpillars above soft brown eyes.
“How’s your love?” he asks.
His memory is good. I haven’t seen him in months, not since I carried my life on my back again through the rain. He is alive. I feel his vibe. My body rises. With the next thought, it falls.
“I don’t know where to begin with that right now.” I answer.
“Ok, don’t worry. Just keep dreaming.” He says with his soft, soothing voice.
He reminds me of a Dad I never had. I’m tempted to ask him to retell the story of how he and his wife met, the story his wife wrote a book about, but I don’t.
“I really believe dreams are all we’ve got, I mean, really.” He says.
I can’t see his lips; they move a fuzzy, seal lion moustache over the dry beach plain of his face.
“If you take away a person’s dream, you take away…everything. There’s no harm in dreaming because you never know, they may come true.”
weirdwildwords 