For some odd reason, Petula Clark’s Don’t Sleep in the Subway reminds me of rain. Something tender.
I had this dream about Malissa. I thought that she was done with. I thought that I had completely finished all things about her in my mind and in my heart. But apparently not. Apparently, in the dream, my brother had started talking with her and they went out to have fun together. I can’t be sure if it was a date, but they had a good time. I think that they went to some kind of arcade/carnival. When my brother told me, I was enraged, and I started smashing the wooden door into pieces. When I destroyed enough of both of the doors, I went on to punching the wall, and when that wasn’t enough, I wrapped my hand in cloth and started hitting something that was stronger, like the door frame. When my furious tantrum was over, I encouraged my brother to talk to me about it. I wasn’t mad at him, and I wasn’t particularly jealous. I just wanted to know something. I asked my brother to mention me to her, to see what was possible…The anger and frustration was rather real when I awoke. My shoulders feel sore as if I were recovering from an adrenaline crash. My breathing was short and shallow. I hadn’t thought of Malissa in the longest time…I don’t know…I suppose only my subconscious will ever truly know what goes on in my head and in my heart.