Some things come and go that can not be remade or replaced.
They can be objects, moments, people, or even memories.
When on planes, I accidentally designate time to get lost deep in my thoughts.
On a recent flight, I got to thinking of dreams.
In one dream I had when I was younger, my friends and I went to a boarding school close to home, and we all lived in a large room that had walls decorated with what could be compared to human doll houses. Each house was for a different girl, and they all had their uniqueness according to the girl’s preferences. In the center of the large room was a circle of chairs and rugs overlooked by the mini houses.
I kept that dream tight for years, constantly longing for a reality similar. Everything about it felt ideal: I was close to home so that I would go home whenever I wanted, I was with all my closest friends, and I had an interesting and fun setup. I changed what was once a dream from one night into a non-reachable reality. Eventually, the reality wasn’t admirable anymore and the memory was pushed away almost completely.
I have zero ideas or thoughts on why that dream resurfaced in my thoughts, but it felt like it opened a wound.
I have zero ideas or thoughts on why that dream resurfaced in my thoughts, but it felt like it opened a wound.
The dream itself was simple and innocent, but there is more that is deeper and more personal.
Over half of those girls that would’ve lived in that odd room boarding school, I haven’t seen in person in years. Another majority have made new friends that are not myself. The idea that once I would’ve chosen to live with them hurts the mini-me that planned on having them at my wedding.
Another part of me hurts knowing that all of those dreams are out of reach physically. At the time, I had been in elementary school—which I personally feel is kind of weird for the context—and now, being in high school, it is considerably less practical and even more unrealistic than before. When I have to actually think about how long ago I woke up from that original dream, it makes an even worse thought of how much time has passed since then.
The entire dream now feels more feverish than realistic. The idea that fourth-grade me was hoping to go live with all of my friends at a half-boarding school in a very odd setup doesn’t even feel possible, although it does feed into the thought that I have a very active imagination.
I couldn’t even tell you what my more recent dreams are about, only that I can swear they are much different. They have morphed from the Disney Channel fantasy into a serious documentary.
I would give anything to go back when my biggest worry was if that dream would ever, finally come true.
I would give anything to go back to when I had the possibility to believe something so absurd could be a reality.
I would give anything to go back to having childhood dreams.
But some things come and go that can not be remade or replaced.
Some things like forever broken dreams.
