the water in my brain

i dreamt last night of water.

i was walking through the neighborhood i lived in while in high school. but i was with bryan and finn at the age of one. each section of my neighborhood was connected by swimming pools, much like a vegas resort but without the 96 oz cocktails and cliched bikini clad hipsters. in one pool, i passed by maggie may and sweet little miss ee and introduced myself. we hugged as we recognized each other and passed our babes into each other's arms and i woke up thirsty and walked in the dark of the house to get a glass of water, stood at the sink and drank the whole thing.

my brain holds these stories of places i've been and i lull myself to sleep by curling into the memories of the way my skin felt at a certain age. at fifteen i wore la gear high tops with two colored laces and sprayed infusium leave in conditioner into my hair. i used to put on my bathing suit and lay down in front of my mirror, trying to figure out the best way to lay on my beach towel so that i hid all the flaws. i can see where my bed meets the carpet in that room and i want to go back to that fifteen year old reflection and tell her to get her ass up off the bed and not worry so much about the funhouse mirror. as i walked back to bed last night, i heard depeche mode coming out of a bright yellow portable cassette player looping around my pillow and i sat looking at the ocean of 1986, writing bad poetry that rhymed.

i fell back asleep and dreamt that my water broke all over my favorite dress.