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The Dream

On Friday I planned on going to a house party. After work drinks in the sun got me in weekend mode. Dinner party, conversations and wine flowing aplenty. I hopped off the train at a stop I had seen many times but had never been before. The night was filled with curiosity. Folding bikes never go without bruises, but wine definitely doesn’t help.

The process of folding open the beast into a state of proud shiny bike took about thirty minutes. Elegance dripping off my face. It might have been sweat. My hair sticking to my lipstick, the realisation people are watching the show. Face exploding with redness. I quickly smile at my audience, lipstick having left my lips a long time ago, swiftly moving to my teeth. Wonderful.

I carry the beast up the stairs and realise I have no clue where I am. Somewhere in Brussels, expensive perfumes lingering. Smartphones cannot be used, that’s a part of the game. I decide to follow a cocktail dressed up crowd, they disappear into a dark jazz bar and I fall in love with Brussels a bit more. But I’m on a mission. There is a party happening in a house near mine, so I skip the jazz and ride rounds of recognition. The moon rises over a beautiful park. I love the lostness, how this city will always have secrets for me.

Many unknown paths lead me to a view I remember seeing before. I ride my bike as fast as I can, singing extra loud until I stop at a red light and other bikers stand still next to me. Awkward silence, then laughter. My life. In our street, I bump into my roommate. We get home and tell stories over rose wine. We don’t have bottles, but casks. Refills are always there when you need them.

I tell her about the party I’m about to go to. She’s tired so she goes to bed. I hang out on the couch for a while, sipping my drink, listening to a new record. I think about the house party. I’m there, I dance, laugh, meet new people, have conversations about all the good things in life. I had a blast.

Next thing I know, I hear my roomies door as the sun pierces through the curtains. She’s up. I look around. I’m in my bed so I’m glad, I made it home after the party and feel like I had the best sleep of my life. It felt like I had slept for 10 hours, so fresh but a bit confused. Did I actually sleep all night? Did I make it to the party? I remember conversations I had with friends, the outfits they wore, music playing, new dance moves. But I don’t remember coming home. Or actually leaving the couch and going outside. Hmmm.

I fell asleep on the couch and never made it to the party, but in my dream world I was dancing the night away. Partying all night in one world, while waking up in the other feeling energised after a long sleep filled with vivid dreams. Ah, that awkward moment when you realise your dream self is a bigger party animal than your granny self who passes out on the couch on Friday night.

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