Can a person steal happiness? Or is it just another internal, infernal, human trick?

— Markus Zusak, The Book Thief.

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Apparently, nobody liked that table. The last one from the entrance but the closest to the east cliff’s edge. There is only one chair at this table, probably because nobody sits here with a partner. That is for good reason. There’s really nothing to see over the cliff’s edge from this side, even if you’re right beside the guard rails. The other side, the east one, had all the action. The beautiful sunset all year, its fiery shimmer on the river below, all of it. And on new year’s eve, they had the fireworks show on that side as well. Presumably to get it enhanced by the river too. 

But I liked it. That too for the same reasons. All the hubbub, the cacophony of people enjoying the view together kept comfortably away from me. I was away too, from the stench of the fine wines and the expensive cigars that the resort served from humidors. Here, I was spared the constant engagement of people, the notices, the stares, and the curiosities. That was the best proposition of this last table in my mind. 

Why, you might ask, did I like so much solitude even in a place like this. You see, waiting requires a certain dissociation. And the kind of waiting I did, sitting here, sipping expensive coffee without the traditional wonderment of it, requires something more. For you see, I wasn’t only waiting, I was rehearsing. 

I come here to sit, recreating in part, my vision of the day when I too would sit on one of the front rows watching the sunset with you. I imagined another of those vintage, somewhat uncomfortable chairs across from me. Another cup of the same expensive coffee, another little plate of sparkling chocolate chip cookies on the table. And amidst that picturesque scenery, would partake a face so perfect that it would challenge the shimmer of the orange sun on the river and the colorful sparkle of fireworks in the dark cloudless sky. 

I envision her, picking that cup of coffee, blowing gently with the sweet pucker of her lips as she tells me, “you should try the cookies, they’re amazing.”

I imagine her getting quiet, as coffee isn’t something she has had much experience with. I see, in my mind as she furrows her brows, searching for the words to justify the taste, even though she has no idea what is supposed to be so charmingly overwhelming about charred, crushed nuts mixed in cream milk. 

I picture her cracking up into her beautiful carefree laughter as I tell her, “don’t worry, I find the coffee ridiculous too.”

But what I adore the most in these vivid musings of her is the eyes. She tilts her head towards me a little, breaking away from looking at the sunset and the rays catch her pupils just right, igniting a surreal spark. That is when I realize that the dream is about to end, that this is the moment beyond which my mind simply cannot keep the facade going. That beyond this moment, I have to experience the real thing, and be ready to keep my composure as I begin to melt on the inside. 

The dream really does break, the charm ends, but the lingering traces of her magic remain, slithering along my mind, evoking senses better left untold.

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About this Dream:

I had this dream about a week ago, but didn’t quite get the time to write it up. Being tied in work and general laziness and a bit of skepticism of conveying everything I felt. Although I honestly feel like this was one of the most romantically charged dreams I’ve had recently, there are certain undertones as well.

I am not much of a believer in dream symbolism, but this one, somehow, felt like it stemmed from a deep-seated inferiority complex within me. That even though I may have all that I saw here, it all was seen from a distant, expectant perspective. I sometimes do find myself in a state of perpetual unreadiness, as if I am always chasing something. I am sure many people feel this. What do you think?