I fell asleep crying. I knew that the end was near. I shall never see you again. I don't know why but it felt that it's a finale this time.
At 5:10 AM I woke up for a perfect dream. This was my dream.
My girlfriend, someone I've not seen for a long time, who lived in the South Bay came for a visit. We decided to go for a run. I was living in Berkeley Hills somehow. We wanted to find a path, to run from Tilden Park to Marin Headland's Tennessee Valley trailhead. I told her, "Once you get to the trailhead, you can practically go anywhere." There she was, reading a map and told me that she knew how. We started running. The direction told us, "Get down the hill, and run away from the freeway." So we did, and soon we pass by these gorgeous shops in a place like I've never been. I had no idea where I was but I kept on running. I told her running heals all wound. Nothing in the world can compare to running. We ran pass by a house. I knew the owner. We said hi, we used their bathroom, and walked out from the patio, carefully not stepping on rocks and fishes in the pond. We kept on running. It started to rain. It was getting dark, I told her we must head back because I forgot the headlamp. She brought umbrella so we kept on running.
We found a 8 mile path straight from Tilden Park to Tennessee Valley Trailhead.
On the way home I turned on my phone and there were lots of emails coming into the inbox. There were three emails from you.
One was a picture of some old sheets of music, a guitar and a guitar case. They were all in a pile, neatly tucked into each other's fold. In the email you wrote, "Look what I found today in San Francisco. They were just sitting on the sidewalk."
Another was an older picture, taken a few months ago. In the picture, you were in a hospital bed, you seemed to have had a surgery. You were sitting on the bed, leaning against a frame. Your son playing by the windowsill at the further end of the hospital room. There was a neat drawing by your bed: What appeared to be piece of half eaten macaroon, and a clamshell pastry. The macaroon had words on it, and it says "An almost perfect macaroon." I looked at the picture and started to laugh. I told my girlfriend why. "This is from a friend. He had his surgery today. I brought some pastry to drop off at the hospital. It was not a macaroon, it was a puff pastry like item. His son must thought that it was a macaroon that has gone awry. I left at the front desk, because I didn't want his family to see me."
Finally, it was a more recent email, came in a few hours ago. It says, "There is this movie I wanted to see. Do you want to catch the September 9th showing?"
I woke up, and I realized that I had always wanted this relationship with you. You to share your life with me. Like I often did with mine. Via some form of a communication. I meant everything I said: I want to take care of you when you are sick and frail. I want to be there for you. I don't know why I chose you but that's not for me to decide.
It was a perfect dream. In my dream, I was able to run to Marin Headlands without driving, in 8 miles I'd be there. crossing the bay, from one hill to another. In my dream, there was a man I love, who shared his life with me, by telling me small and mundane things in his day, by letting me into his life, and by wanting to spend time with me. I realized all of that was just a dream but it was so representative of how I felt and what I felt, that I thought I'd better write them down before the dawn cracks.
Perhaps it finally hit home with me. I could never run from Tilden Park to Marin Headlands with a straight line, in 8 miles, I could never be let into your life, in the way I'd wish to be. Those were the three things I wanted from you most: To tell me something mundane but interesting about your life, to let me take care of you, and to want to spend time with me.
I don't think those were extraordinary things. I think that's what love is all about. And I find streams of tears coming down. Sometimes, we fail not for lack of trying, sometimes, we gave affection and love to the wrong person. It's just life, it's out of our control, and it's how illusions became formed and one day they will all tumble down.
I think of the mirage I had let myself live in, and at that moment I realized perhaps I should never have given up writing, not for you, not for anyone. I mustn't stop listening to my head, I mustn't let the better, rational self become delusional. I must heal my heart.
As for the run, it'll happen. It won't be with this girlfriend of mine, it won't be a straight 8 mile path from Tilden to Tennessee Valley. But it will happen.
At 5:10 AM I woke up for a perfect dream. This was my dream.
My girlfriend, someone I've not seen for a long time, who lived in the South Bay came for a visit. We decided to go for a run. I was living in Berkeley Hills somehow. We wanted to find a path, to run from Tilden Park to Marin Headland's Tennessee Valley trailhead. I told her, "Once you get to the trailhead, you can practically go anywhere." There she was, reading a map and told me that she knew how. We started running. The direction told us, "Get down the hill, and run away from the freeway." So we did, and soon we pass by these gorgeous shops in a place like I've never been. I had no idea where I was but I kept on running. I told her running heals all wound. Nothing in the world can compare to running. We ran pass by a house. I knew the owner. We said hi, we used their bathroom, and walked out from the patio, carefully not stepping on rocks and fishes in the pond. We kept on running. It started to rain. It was getting dark, I told her we must head back because I forgot the headlamp. She brought umbrella so we kept on running.
We found a 8 mile path straight from Tilden Park to Tennessee Valley Trailhead.
On the way home I turned on my phone and there were lots of emails coming into the inbox. There were three emails from you.
One was a picture of some old sheets of music, a guitar and a guitar case. They were all in a pile, neatly tucked into each other's fold. In the email you wrote, "Look what I found today in San Francisco. They were just sitting on the sidewalk."
Another was an older picture, taken a few months ago. In the picture, you were in a hospital bed, you seemed to have had a surgery. You were sitting on the bed, leaning against a frame. Your son playing by the windowsill at the further end of the hospital room. There was a neat drawing by your bed: What appeared to be piece of half eaten macaroon, and a clamshell pastry. The macaroon had words on it, and it says "An almost perfect macaroon." I looked at the picture and started to laugh. I told my girlfriend why. "This is from a friend. He had his surgery today. I brought some pastry to drop off at the hospital. It was not a macaroon, it was a puff pastry like item. His son must thought that it was a macaroon that has gone awry. I left at the front desk, because I didn't want his family to see me."
Finally, it was a more recent email, came in a few hours ago. It says, "There is this movie I wanted to see. Do you want to catch the September 9th showing?"
I woke up, and I realized that I had always wanted this relationship with you. You to share your life with me. Like I often did with mine. Via some form of a communication. I meant everything I said: I want to take care of you when you are sick and frail. I want to be there for you. I don't know why I chose you but that's not for me to decide.
It was a perfect dream. In my dream, I was able to run to Marin Headlands without driving, in 8 miles I'd be there. crossing the bay, from one hill to another. In my dream, there was a man I love, who shared his life with me, by telling me small and mundane things in his day, by letting me into his life, and by wanting to spend time with me. I realized all of that was just a dream but it was so representative of how I felt and what I felt, that I thought I'd better write them down before the dawn cracks.
Perhaps it finally hit home with me. I could never run from Tilden Park to Marin Headlands with a straight line, in 8 miles, I could never be let into your life, in the way I'd wish to be. Those were the three things I wanted from you most: To tell me something mundane but interesting about your life, to let me take care of you, and to want to spend time with me.
I don't think those were extraordinary things. I think that's what love is all about. And I find streams of tears coming down. Sometimes, we fail not for lack of trying, sometimes, we gave affection and love to the wrong person. It's just life, it's out of our control, and it's how illusions became formed and one day they will all tumble down.
I think of the mirage I had let myself live in, and at that moment I realized perhaps I should never have given up writing, not for you, not for anyone. I mustn't stop listening to my head, I mustn't let the better, rational self become delusional. I must heal my heart.
As for the run, it'll happen. It won't be with this girlfriend of mine, it won't be a straight 8 mile path from Tilden to Tennessee Valley. But it will happen.
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