She could weave flower crowns faster than the breeze that rustled her hair. She certainly knew more about the forest than I ever will. Everything about her was so vivid and bright, yet she was merely the essence of my imagination. I've been having these dreams for about two weeks now, about a girl who doesn't exist.
She could weave flower crowns faster than the breeze that rustled her hair. She certainly knew more about the forest than I ever will.
Everything about her was so vivid and bright, yet she was merely the essence of my imagination.
I've been having these dreams for two weeks now, about a girl who doesn't exist.
. . .
There she is! It's her!
"Hi! What's your name again? You're new, right?"
"Um- yeah. I'm Quincey." She says absentmindedly.
Quincey walks away.
So that's the girl I've been dreaming about? Weird. I've never seen her before.
A whistle blows, and I run back to my classmates who are collected in a messy huddle near the door.
The day seems to go on forever as I watch the analog clock tick; everything my teacher says is blurred and quiet while I daydream.
"Quilla! What is the answer?"
"7..?"
"Good. Just making sure you were paying attention."
Phew.
As I eat dinner, I can't take my mind off of the fact that I met Quincey just today, after having dreams about her weeks before. Where did she come from?
. . .
Last night, the dreams ended. My mind was blank like I had forgotten her. But sure enough, I see Quincey wandering around at recess the next day. I decide not to greet her a second time, but instead observe from afar. I noticed every detail about her; how one strand of strawberry-brown hair curled near her forehead, how she walked smooth and comfortably as if she had memorized every crack and crevice in the ground below her. I watched her hazel eyes, how they were flecked with gold and green, and dark brown like the earth after rain.
But the strangest thing I noticed, by far, was how she interacted with the things around her. The weeds growing near the playground perked up near her feet, and the bumblebees visiting flowers landed on her fingers. I often saw her looking for four-leaf clovers, a bouquet of them in her hand by the end of recess. I think I'm the only one who noticed these things; I have been watching her everyday for the past week. It's probably just my mind playing tricks on me anyway.
