Sunday, August 29, 2004


I dreamt about her* again.

Oh, don't worry. I respect her so much that, made into film, my dreams of her can generally be rated fit for all audiences.

Like this dream I just had. She appeared at some party in my house and had a copy of my high school year book (apparently, she had borrowed it from somewhere because in the dream, my own dusty copy was still on the shelf) with her. As with most dreams, I have no idea what it means.

I don't mind dreaming about her. It's actually the only time when we really get to speak.

Still, it hurts whenever I wake up.

*If you have no idea who this is, it means you had been spared of my past gushing. Be grateful.

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