I dream in colorful gradients. The hallway halogens stain my irises. I press an interloper's knock to the door. It opens with a flood of music. It frames a retired and towel-wrapped demigoddess.
I frown-- this isn't right.
Her face is painted the colors of smug and coy.
Coiled trepidation carries me inside. Predatory reflexes arm me against uncertainty. I look to her.
She's the same, in many ways. Same height. Same face. Same voice.
Orders of magnitude define the differences. Punctuated and framed by dialogue of syncopation. Hollow utterances exchanged as bankrupt notes.
She scratches her face over and over without subtlety. Trying to scrape away the perplexing rash of shadows nibbling her throat and cheeks.
She blocks me when I turn to leave. She has discarded her towel for a dress of rainbow whorls. She undulates grotesquely in time to out-of-sync noises that scrape my brain. The taste of disgust in my throat is cloying.
This isn't my beautiful girl.
I don't recognize this blob of humanity.
Why did my dream bring me here?
I don't understand.
10:37 a.m. - 2014-08-19
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