Daydreaming to me isn’t resting my head against my finger tips sighing loudly and looking at a bright blue sky appearing cloudless (and most likely at a moderate temperature). It’s not the cliché version that is in sit-coms and cartoons. Most of the time it’s when I’m walking to my apartment, it’s in waiting for the next customer, or the seconds between crossing a street or when I’m restless in bed. Daydreaming has always been something I’ve done actively since I was a child. From terrifying nightmares to realistic futures to the childlike prayers.
Lately the streets have been filled with skirts and colorful jumpers, cut off pants, striped dresses and black leather sandals. The trees are suddenly three feet taller and full of green leaves and pink blossoms. Cafes, book stores and consignment shops have their windows and doors open and if you touch the pavement with your finger tips they just may burn. On occasion the sky is filled with grey and black clouds and the sun filled days release their hold and little droplets are kissing your forehead and shins as the water races into your socks. Dogs begin to bark and run their owners to shelter and, the cafes hurriedly close their doors. Sometimes while looking up you’ll notice a window on a fourth floor apartment winding open and green leaves leaking out it, soaking in the Tears of God or whatever you were told as a kid.
(In a less romantic way it’s fuckin’ summer in NYC so we’re getting day drunk and eating snacks on our unfurnished roofs.)
I’ve been dreaming of home and thats kinda always what I day dream of. The overbearing green trees, the kind old ladies I grew up with, knowing my neighbors across the street, the bench I use to warm at softball games (lol). I dream of a place where I was almost completely free. My summer morning runs, floating in my empty pool naked and listening to all the birds at 8 AM, really long drives, sometimes in silence and others in a packed car filled with tunes.
A quick backstory: My senior year of High school I lived in my empty childhood home. Well, partly empty, the only furnished room was my room and the couches in the living room. My father also stayed with me but, on weekends he was often gone for business (lots of parties) and everyday he was working until 5 or 6 PM. Growing up with 4 siblings and all of their friends in and out of the house THIS was a very different experience than theirs and,not what I expected for myself. It was quiet and in the small town I lived in, it felt quiet. Therefore, I had a lot of slow minutes, a lot of rebellion and a lot of solitude. In this time my relationship with my dad grew and I really began to understand him separately and not just as my dad. It was the first time my heart ever hurt because of someone else, it was the first time my dad saw me cry because I was sad and not because of some scrape on my knee. This year holds so much importance to me and because of that I often reflect on it.
With all of that being said, in times where the streets are overcrowded and when someone else’s sweat touches my arm or I can’t escape the sound of cars honking their horns, my ears close and I remember when I could feel my heart in my chest while running through the trails of North Carolina. I hear the crunch of the leaves under my sneakers as the seasons began to change, I can hear birds chirping to one another at 7:30 in the morning. The honking fades and suddenly I’m eating dinner with my dad trying to figure out where I was going to college or if I was even going to. The walkman appears across the street and I remember driving to my Nanny’s house peeking in the windows and eating watermelon on her vacant porch- trying to remember her voice.
Daydreaming for me is where I go when it becomes too loud, its where I go when I need to breathe air thats been recycled through trees and not exhaust pipes, when I need to remember my roots. Its the most important place to me and a place I don’t belong to right now but, often escape to.
What do you dream of?