Men cry in secret. I believe everyone experience heartache, men included, only they are very good at not displaying melancholy. My sorrow shows when I am alone or when I express it on paper. And it isn't about the past, but about Faye.
I miss her. I even miss the smell of her cigarette, because it means she is near.
I dreamt about her. I dreamt that I tried to find her but she had disappeared with a Korean guy. Another time I dreamt of her with me, naked. An image so blur and fake that I forced myself to wake up instead of dwelling in an illusion.
I feel asleep again, thinking about Faye. And I was elated to see her again.
5-6 lines as usual. Wait, in French? Now that's unusual. And how come there are lines when you are standing right in front of me?
'Thinking of youtous les jours.'
I wanted to believe it.
So we saw each other, smiled and talked. Like old friends do, which was nice and warm. No hugs nor any contacts.
In my dream, I knew that I was dreaming. I decided to try something.
'Faye... I want you back. ' The Cliff in the dream told Faye in the dream, and braced for impact.
Dreams are like, take 2 of a reality. You don't actually have any control of how the situation unfolds. You try say or do something, and the consequence should play out. It's not scripted, as in all actors act according to the script the dreamer wants a story to be. Otherwise dreams will always be sweet. And nightmares exists not.