� I'm not a whore... but I play one in my dreams. � 2006-01-11 � 7:22 p.m. �
The other night I had a dream of an old friend and I in a theatre... he was sitting beside me... first with his hand on my knee... his arm around me... finally his lips to my neck and his fingers through my hair... he spoke quietly... all kind words... flattering words. It seemed so out of place.
I asked him several times if he was drunk... and he shook his head... I asked if something wasn't right with him... and he still said no.
I've known him almost our whole lives... well at least since the sixth grade and he's one of those people I know I can trust... but this time, in this dream, he was like any other man with dirty hands and wandering lips. I wasn't comfortable... I wasn't happy.
He left... and my dream continued... beside me sat one of my best friends from a different time in life and she says "That guy... he was all over you... do you know him?"
"Well, I thought I did, but I guess not."
And in he comes again... to sit in front of us... and he turns to me and grabs my hand. From there strange men walk up to us... hand him money and look at me with sin on their face... a dirty evil grin... and keep going.
"I don't understand..." I was so confused... this is a boy I used to turn to...
"You don't have to understand," he growled. "I do."
This man who would wrap his arms around me to keep me from the wind...
was, in that moment in front of a theatre full of people we didn't know - and some we did - the pimp and I, I guess, was the common whore.
I'm not sure what this was meant to mean. I'm not sure if there was a lesson somewhere in there that I was suppose to absorb... if all the people play a part somehow...
I woke up with a pain in my stomach and a broken heart. I felt as though I had actually been betrayed.
I wanted to find him... find his arms... and be sheltered from my dream.
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