As I dreamt, I tripped upon the most delicate and complex of emotions: a medley blend of regret and pride, clarity of inward sight and the clouded vision of rampant egotism, all expressed in a flirty smile as the cameras flashed – a sentiment strengthened as a shirt drifted further down the muscled bronze shoulder destined to be airbrushed into artistic perfection.

Wistfully, I said, “I wish I were a male model.”

This dream managed to make itself even more baffling when I awoke, as I had forgotten the context to the comment. Only several days later did I remember the emotional circumstance, if not the situational.


*doffs & twirls hat* Long time, no talk, eh? The dialogue of the dreams has remained as odd, the prose style, I hope, has improved. The fact that I’ll be posting the occasional short story means I wanted something a bit more representative of my style on my journal – and what’s more representative than subconscious gender-bending?

Right-o. Until two years have passed once more: adieu.