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The color of a dream

Can people change ?

We make promises to ourselves, don’t we ? We lay in the dark, making to-do lists that God himself would probably think were a little much. The sun rises, and we begin to concede, justify, and deny.

We’re good people. Humans I mean. I count myself among them, though I’ve only been one for thirty-four years. It takes practice.

I think we dream in the same colors. I think we know each other a lot better than we dare imagine. A contact of the eye is often enough to introduce two people. A touch of the hand seals the most powerful of loves. Part animal, part soul temples, we all walk around oblivious to every one of our heart beats…Until the last one comes.

What lies under our skin, really ? What does it take to move us to real change ?

Tragedy, maybe. But tragedy is like taking a shower without soap.

It gets the job done, but not quite.

The human race needs to get naked–metaphorically or not–and look itself in the eye. We all need to create a giant LOVE bar to scrub the crap out of our hearts.

The hard-to-reach spots too.

And it starts with number one.


About Mel

Montreal queer fiction writer.

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