An exercise we did in my writing class involved looking at this photograph.
Each of us then chose one person from the photograph to write a story about. I chose the man in the beret. Here is what I wrote.
I had the dream again. It always starts out the same way. I am kissing her goodbye. We kiss in the doorway and I watch as she gets into her car, backs out of the driveway, and takes off down the street. Every time I have this dream, instead of closing the door and going inside, I walk outside. First I seem to be wandering aimlessly through my neighborhood. But then slowly the landscape changes and I see giant, beautiful buildings. I look down at myself and I’m wearing an absurd amount of layers. My jacket is wool. I touch my head. I’m wearing a beret. For a few seconds I am disoriented until I realize I’m in the middle of Paris. And then I see her, walking just ahead of me. She’s walking with a man. He’s tall with dark, messy hair. And even though I’ve had this dream many times, I am never prepared for what happens next. Just as I’m about to reach out for her arm and let her know I’m in Paris to see her, the man puts his arm around her shoulders and kisses her. I wince. My fists clench. I lose my breath. My eyes tear up, but it’s starting to drizzle and I hope that no one notices. I feel anxious and my feet are heavy. I try to pick up my pace so that I can get past them before they finish their kiss, but I can’t move any quicker. My head aches. I have trouble swallowing. I start to walk closer to them and just as I am about to pass them she opens her eyes and sees me. This is the part of the dream where I always wake up. Whenever I wake from the dream my heart is racing. It sometimes takes hours to shake off the feelings I wake up with.