Daydreaming Thinking of Love {Samantha 2/10}

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This room used to be my dad’s. The blinds are very old, practically falling apart… I like them. There are cracks on the whitewashed ceiling. I trace them with my eyes when I am lying on the bed. I remember when I was a kid how I always used to sneak up in that very same bed and wedge myself between my mom and dad. I used to ask my father to tell me this one particular story that I loved, over and over again. About the woodchuck and the bear, and how words can leave much deeper marks than a physical wound. Some years ago when I was staying at grandma’s for the summer I had a terrible dream. I dreamt that my grandma was drowning in the middle of a lake and I could not save her. I woke up in tears and for a while I thought that something terrible would happen to her. I didn’t tell anyone about that nightmare and she’s been fine to this day. Dreams are strange and interesting. I wonder what dad’s life was like when he was young. I love opening the closet and looking at grandma and grandpa’s old clothes. Sometimes it’s fun to dress up in them, moth ball smell and all. How different their life has been … What will my life be like? Sometimes it feels boring. Like I could be doing more, but I don’t know what. The Sun is shining and it’s so nice out. Summer is my favorite. What I long for is a hand to hold mine

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When grandma was young there was another man who wanted to marry her. His family was rich and he was very insistent, but she loved grandpa and eloped with him, even though he had nothing. I know she misses him a lot. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone. I don’t like cemeteries, I only went to his grave today because of her. I don’t think grandpa is in a coffin, to me he is alive in my memories. Cemeteries are so sad, there’s always a funeral and grieving people, sobbing and lifeless. Small old cemeteries with falling apart tombstones are interesting. Like the one my brother and I stumbled upon when we went to visit grandma’s sister. Family is funny – there are so many relatives I have never met yet. And when I meet them for the first time it’s awkward to find topics for conversation. I’ve always felt somewhat distant to the whole thing. People seem to ask the same routine questions, nobody really wants to talk about the meaning of life. I like it when they tell stories of the past, the struggles and the joys, the uncertainty of all, yet they just kept going. I guess love is when you stick to what you’ve chosen…

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