IT STARTED WITH A DREAM

Chapter 2

I lay in my bed, facing the ceiling and gasping, trying to tame my erratic heart. The dream had been so vivid, I could still feel the texture of his hair on my fingertips, I could still taste his lips on mine, and I could feel the heat from his lips scorching mine. The dream had felt so real. Even though, thinking about the kiss made my cheeks burn with shame, it still disturbed me how much I had enjoyed kissing my oldest and dearest friend. It disturbed me how I didn't really want the kiss to end, it disturbed me how I wished I could close my eyes and drift off to sleep just so I could continue with the dream. In the dead of the night, in the cover of darkness, alone in my thoughts, I could be honest with myself and go through every single detail of that dream. I could admit that I wanted that kiss. But the real Olivia in the real world didn't look at Shahid the way dream Olivia did. Shahid was just like a brother to me, he was family, he was the person I shared my darkest secrets with, he was my person and I have never felt any sexual attraction to him before. Not once. Shahid never gave me lingering looks like dream Shahid did, I've touched Shahid a million times and never once has his touch made me shudder with anticipation like Dream Shahid did. This dream didn't make any sense, I clearly was in the midst of some mental break down or my dream was trying to tell me something. Not that I should be with Shahid, but maybe that there is a new adventure for me around the corner. Which is sort of true.

My dream had it all wrong, I am not in college, I am not renting a flat, I don't have a female roommate who I am close friends with (besides, I hate females. They talk shit and back stab and are in constant competition with one another and then preach that "support other queens" bullshit) and I am not an artsy chick. I'm not even in college yet! I just finished High School, I wrote my last paper yesterday and I had been feeling a little sad because I knew I wouldn't be returning next year, for the first time in a long time- I didn't know what the future held and it made me sad. My only comfort was that Shahid was going to the same college that I would be attending. We had both applied at the same college on purpose (because we are just that inseparable and have an unhealthy co-dependent relationship). I wanted to study teaching and he wanted to study law and the only college that offered both is Varsity College. Luckily for me, my grandmother had been putting away money for college from when I was still in my mother's belly, so I would be able to afford college. Since Varsity college didn't have any accommodations, I would have to look for a place to rent before lecture's start in February. It was still December though, I would only start worrying about accommodation in January. Shahid and I were planning to rent together, it made more sense for him and I to live together since we would be attending the same college and he was the only person I knew, so who better? He would have his own room and I would have my own. We were so excited to live together and throw parties and hang out all the time. My grandmother was not happy about this arrangement when I told her, she insisted that I stay at home, that VC is not that far, so I didn't have to leave home. I loved my grandmother, but I wanted my own space, I wanted to date a lot of guys, I wanted to sleep until noon and not be told off for that and I wanted independence. It was time for me to move on to the next chapter of my life.

I think the reason I had been an art student in my dream was because the paper I had been writing the day before was Art. I wrote a 20 page essay going into detail about different artists and what their work was about and what the colours they used in their work meant and what the brushstrokes meant the artist was feeling. My hand was cramping by the time I was done with the exam. If they wanted my true opinion, I think that artists just painted what they wanted to paint. The dead artists probably laughing their asses off that we are trying to put some meaning and over analysing their work that they probably didn't even think about when they were doing! It's probably the same with William Shakespeare, all of his works have been analysed to death. I wonder if he meant it for us to take it the way our teachers and so many others before them have taken it. Anyway, that's just my opinion.