The wind was blowing today. The house I bought in November has trees - large, old trees that have been trimmed back so that they have grown tall and wispy. Their bare (small budded) branches swayed like lazy ocean waves ebbing and flowing. I sat on the couch (a new set all soft and cushy) and just listened to the small sounds and watching the trees move.
I couldn't help but be in another day and another time. I was probably only 11 years old. I didn't stay in the house much and had learned to keep myself busy and entertained, so every day I dressed warmly and set out on an adventure. This time of year, and the Fall season are the only times the wind blows here. I don't like the wind, but I hated being indoors even worse. More times than not, I ended up sitting on the ground or boards, or straw, that I'd purposely set up facing the sun, yet shielded against the cold wind. I would pull my hood over my head and tug it down around my cheeks and chin and just sit there, and dream.
I always dreamed. I dreamed of being a ballerina, of playing the piano, of singing, of being loved, and many other things that I will probably never experience. Not once did I ever dream of being used, abused, and raped. Never. Ever, did I dream of that.
Often I would fall asleep and really dream of all those things. I lived my entire life so far believing that everyone only dreamed of all those things, but that no one ever really got them. I no longer want to be a ballerina, I am greatly happy to just listen to the piano, and my daughter loves me. My biggest hope now is just to be happy and I'm beginning to realize that it is just a dream away...