The Gregeo Girl

I woke up from a good dream about a Japanese girl whose name is lost somewhere in my fuzzy brain, however, I would go ahead and recall her from whatever disintegrated syllables I could evoke and call her Gregeo.
Apparently the story begins when I bump into her and see a nameplate on the left side of her chest, calling her something I just mentioned (never mind the first name). This name sounded similar to an author’s but it was nowhere close. I don’t know how names are created for different characters in a dream but I quickly made one for her and drew a connection between her and the author, to which she nodded as if in agreement. I cannot remember a face because whenever I try to go back to it I see a new thundering face, with her freshness bouncing at every curve, whilst I contemplate that she couldn’t have been so young. I was never good with creating faces, even in my dreams, because they are so intricate and are worthy of your utmost attention to details. I think I will take portions of all beautiful women and manufacture one face since it is only fitting that your love interest be the epitome of desire and beauty .
I hugged her and kissed her on her right cheek just where the lips end and bought her some drinks. Touch sensations in a dream draw impulses into your body and that is when you let the dream be a reality even if it doesn’t have to be long.
I couldn’t let myself wake up when I am finally with a girl even if it was just a dream. But, I had to wake up, for I was drenched in sweat, to switch on the air conditioner in this height of summer. When I dived back to my dream, I was in a room, richly furnished, while she was sitting on the four-poster bed with her black bra and a floral skirt on. I couldn’t go into the perversity of the moment but I can tell you I had the best time with her even though it was just a dream.
Now, I was restless, swaying my legs to all corners of the bed and changing sides of the pillow awaiting the next moment when I could release myself back into her arms and into my fictional reality. It took a while before I realized that alluring face of her was not the same but replaced by a more devastating form, a blooming flower. Never has the world seen a more magnificent form of splendor riding on a woman’s face and never has a man been luckier than I was for this beauty was mine, even though it was just a dream.
She was talking to my friends and how it killed me to even think that they might allure her away from me and that my luck gave away so fast. Jealousy blocks your mind and possessiveness weakens you in the heart and you let the girl decide what she wants. When I stood in front of her, unaware of the decay of this fragmented dream with the rise of the sun over the horizon, I let myself jolt up because she refused to identify me.

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