A quiet weekend passed, over umbrella drinks Saturday someone asked me "have you ever had a dream so real you were sure you were awake". I wanted to say how I wish life felt as real as my dreams do, but I didn't want to be reminded. It's never winter in LA but when I dream of snow everything suddenly becomes so clear and obvious, in perfect focus, like it was when I was a kid. I guess it's some sort of consolation that if I can dream it then maybe I can still feel it in real life too. Maybe I can still feel something the way I once did.
Mother found me one day in her closet, reading that diary. She was furious and screamed to me I was never allowed to see it ever again. She hid it well because I haven't seen it since, but what she doesn't know is I had already copied every last word by hand. I must have known how important it was before I saw what it meant to her.