Tag Archives: bus

The Lighthouse

I am in a lighthouse. I am standing in a large window with no glass, its like an inverted balcony overlooking the ocean. It is dark outside so all I can see is the light cast from the lighthouse and then a vast darkness far beyond what I can comprehend. It looks lonely out there. I remember thinking that if I could go anywhere in the world it would not be out there. I would miss people. Just as this thought crosses my mind I feel a hand slide across my lower back. This is such an intimate gesture. For a second I find myself a little confused. Then I look to the left, the opposite way the hand moved, and see a man standing there. Even in this dream-like state my consciousness thinks “you were on the bus!” His dark brown hair is mussed atop of his head and I find my hand reaching out to tangle it even more. My back is to the open window but I know that I will be okay. I trust this man more than I could possibly explain.

“Why is the universe so cruel?” I ask, looking into his hazel eyes. He smiles, which confuses me. “Don’t smile! I’m serious!”

“I am too,” he pauses, biting his lip. I watch as his smile travels into his eyes. “I don’t think the universe is cruel. I think it is right. We may not be allowed to be together in public but that’s okay… because it is the small, intimate moments such as this that make me like you so much. Yes, I want to be able to shout it to the world… actually…” He stops and looks right at me. I know he can see me. Every part of me.

He turns, puts his hands in a cup-like motion around his mouth, and yells “I AM IN LOVE WITH ASHLY BLAKE” and I listen in astonished silence as his words echo through the lighthouse and across the vast, lonely ocean.

And then I woke up.


What I should do versus What I want to do

I’m on the bus. It is a normal, yellow bus. I’m not quite sure where we are going or why we are there but I am sitting beside a man. He is an attractive man. He has brown shaggy hair and I know who he is but I cannot say who he is. We are not supposed to be together because our best friends would be very angry. We are holding hands. Our hands are on the seat, squished between our thighs. No one can see; no one is allowed to see. We sit like strangers on a bus in the middle of a large city. I look out the window. I can’t look at him because I know we can’t be together. As much as I want to cherish this moment, I know that I should not enjoy it. The bus comes to a stop and my body jolts forward. There, standing on the curb, in the pouring rain is the man that I am supposed to be with.

And then I woke up.