Imperfect Dream

I'm lying again in bed with the lights out, with no one special to think about. I know no one is thinking about me. I only have a single past experience that left me struggling for air. It's hard to believe anything will happen to me, especially not something elating. They say that things happen when you least expect it; and perhaps that's true. In a strange way I think I have learned to put my heart into things while expecting the worst, and here I am expecting nothing.

Last night in my dreams, I found myself at the mall where I met a curious girl. It was hard to make out anything except dark brown curly hair that surrounded her face and her tall figure. Somehow I knew she was shy, reserved, and emotionally imperfect. Romantically, we repeatedly encountered each other, though our words are short. I noted to her that we did things by her rules and we did things by my rules, and it hasn't worked either way. At the same time, I couldn't help but feel an emotional connection between us. Unfortunately, at that moment, everything dissolved into the sunlight of morning. Now, maybe I can visit her again.

bitter cold

It's cold out here... alone among the snowflakes whizzing by. I've been so busy helping firewood for friends and neighbors, I forgot to get some for myself. It's too late now, I'm either left out in this harsh weather or bouncing between cynical houses getting morcels of warmth that I more than deserve. Now, I realize my chilling flaw: I haven't been selfish enough.

Somehow, I thought helping others was better than helping myself. Maybe the village would realize my kindness and gratitude and suprise me with something great? There is nothing. I'm left with the pleasant thought of having done the right thing while ice begins to envelope my fingers. Could this be better than the cold, bitter reception cloaked in gratitude if I ask for help?

The next day, I ignore the sincere inquiries for help from those that apparently appreciate me and gather plenty of firewood for myself. In that fire, my rare and reassuring benevolence burn away. Alone, in the hut, I watch the flames without regret.

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise
-William Blake