GoT Writings

Black & White Final Cut Prompt 43, w.c. 343

43. A favorite place to dream... [w.c. 343]

I remember so clearly, walking along my grandmother’s lake shore property and finding the perfect spot to write, to dream, just to figure things out.

It was right after a particularly bothersome period. My mother was not terribly mean, she just did not like me all that well. She probably loved me, you can’t give birth without feeling some level of love for the child you have given birth to, but love and like are two very different things.

After one of the many you’re-not-good-enough sessions, I ran off down by the shore and kept on going for a half a mile or so over rough and rugged terraine. I found a tree that had been bent and weathered by the wind and storms that blew through. I could sit there for hours just watching the boats float in and then out again. I thought it might be a good place to fish, but it was too sandy for that.

I started taking my notepad down there and would put down the words that I sang in my head. That’s where I drafted my college entrance inquiries. That’s where I sat to figure out my place in this world.

All the time spent “finding” me and it all boiled down to “I want to belong”, “I want to get out of this nasty town” (although the word I used was much stronger), “I want friends who don’t care what your last name is”, really just ordinary things that either draw people together or tear them apart.

The lake house has been sold. My life has survived on memories of that spot. I think I would be afraid to go back now for fear that it’s not as surreal as my memories have it be.

Then my favorite place to dream was in a bent over tree by wood-lined lake. Now, it is my memory of those bygone days where my dreams had wings and were as big as a mountain. When I pull up those memories, my dreams can again experience that wonder. 



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