i wanted to dance with you that night. it would have fitted perfectly, embracing under the night sky, swaying as one. we wouldn't have needed music, my heartbeat could've been the congas and your sweet whisperings the lyrics. with my arms wrapped around your neck we could have slow danced around the front lawn, disturbing the fresh dew drops that glistened magically on the grass. we would've breathed in the same cool, night air, that those sleeping inside would never taste. and then, with superb romance, we'd have kissed. it would've totally knocked out my concept of time, and we would've remained that way until the rising sun reminded us of where we were. what we were. who we were. and we would've laughed and hugged and smiled and we would've been happy. i'm sure of it. well i was sure of it, but now it seems too surreal to strive for. but i can still dream....
Wednesday, April 11
"The products of imagination are most often seen as deformations or distortions of the real - distortions conceived in the service of wish, and created through the sleights of mind as condensation, substitution, negation." Mary Watkins (Invisible Guests, The Development of Imaginal Dialogue, 1986)
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