When I dream, I dream of you...

I don't know if it's wish fulfillment. I don't know if he's really visiting me. I just don't know. But the truth is, whenever I feel really lonely, I dream of Freddie Mercury. This isn't an every-night occurance; I'm rarely lonely. I'm constantly surrounded by friends, family, etc., but sometimes...I don't know.

And last night, he visited me again. If I'm not mistaken, this is the seventh time. I know I sound like a sap, but I just wanted to get it off my chest.

I dreamed about Freddie Mercury. And this time, it was the most wonderful, beautiful, sad dream I've ever had of him. He was in his prime and dressed in that white satin suit from the Bohemian Rhapsody music video. He had just finished running around stage, performing with intense vigour, when he came to this plain room. Brian was standing in the corner, Roger was off somewhere, and I'm not sure where John was; I think they were supposed to record something. Freddie looked at me and gave me this heart-melting smile, and began to deteriorate in front of my face.

He looked sick, weak, like he did in '91, right before he died. He was panting, sweating, and desparate to cool off.

Some nameless, faceless someone came up to him and undressed him (no, this dream was NOT explicit, this is just what happened) down to his shorts. As soon as this had happened, Freddie collapsed on his back on the floor. I stood helplessly, watching him. All he did was smile at me.

And then he began to sing.

"You will remember-
When this is blown over
And everything's all by the way-
When I grow older
I will be there at you side to remind you how I still love you-
I still love you."

The whole time, he never broke eye-contact with me, looking at me from the flat of his back.

I went to him, kneeling by his side, and took his hand in mine. He was so thin, so skinny; I could see his bones...

He was slowly leaving me, dying before my eyes.

He then said, "I still love you."

And all I could do was answer: "I love you, too."

Then I woke up. I guess my mind didn't want to watch him actually die. (Which I am grateful for.)

And I started thinking, once I woke up: What if Freddie really is the love of my life? My mother told me a few days ago that she seriously thought that Freddie wasn't a celebrity crush to me, but my first love. I couldn't argue; how could I? I'm not trying to be melodramatic; this is a major thing for me to come out and admit this. Yeah, you probably knew that I loved Freddie, but the extent of that loving is something that I've tried to hide. I know he's dead. I know I'll never get to see him; it's killing me to just type that. But I have to get this out. I don't know...I'm not looking for advice or sympathy, I just want it in print.

And I know there are other people out there that feel the way I do. I know there are other people that idolize Freddie more than I (however scary a thought that may be). But I hurt for him. I love him. And I'm starting to get scared; what if there's no one out there for me? What if my one shot at love died before I was even born? Is this why I haven't been able to find anyone? The reason why none of the guys at my school are "good enough," why I feel like I have to "settle"? And, even scarier yet, I wonder if I even want to find someone else.

I know it probably won't help anything to get this out, but maybe it will. Maybe if I stop hiding the extent of my love for this man, maybe it'll help me. I don't know...I can't even write this without having to get up and go bawl my eyes out.

Am I proud of this? No. I'm kind of ashamed, actually. I'm not an emotional person; I'm usually either one of two things, mellow or hyper. And why should the man that I'm the most emotional about, that I care more about than so many others, be someone that I've never even met? I think that's what hurts me the most, the fact that I never met him. I never got the chance to talk to him, feel his touch, hear his laugh. It's unfair. You have NO IDEA how much I envy Mary Austin, his best friend and one time girl friend. No idea whatsoever. I wish no harm on her at all, I just envy her. I don't hate her; I'd love to meet her, talk to her, find out what he was like, what it was like to be with him.

I know this is a very long entry; you don't have to read all of it or anything. I've just had it on my chest for a long, long time. I thought it would get better, that I'd stop crying over him, that my feelings for him would fade like every single other of my crushes have faded (and eventually, disappeared). But it hasn't. It's only grown. Sure, I can distract myself from it, whether it's with music or other guys or what, but in the end, it always comes back to Freddie.

I don't even know why I'm writing this, really; I just read through it, and the words seem to pale in comparison to what I feel. Like they can't get it across. I guess that's a good thing; some things are meant to stay private. But it's kind of frustrating; I take pride in my writing, I'm spilling my guts out, and I can't even get across the intensity of what I feel for him...I guess some things just can't be put down in words.

Alright, I'm about to start getting redundant, and I'm pretty sure that you're sick of hearing me moan and groan. I'm going to go ahead and sign off. Adios, and I love you all. Thanks for bearing with me; I'll probably regret posting this later.

Part 2 (read last entry before you read this one)

(Well, I'm getting a few more readers, just because I've been talking about this blog to more people. So, for you newer readers, the picture *usually* has nothing to do with the entry, it's just a random Queen picture I post. Brian May and Freddie Mercury are not my characters, no matter how cool that may be...Okay! I'm done! Here's Part 2 of the story!)

“Child, what’s your name?” Krishna asked the girl in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

She sat cross-legged in the soggy grass, wet with both the dew and the rain from the night before.

“My name’s Miranda. I’m fifteen and a half.”

Krishna nodded, then stopped, his head snapping up, “What?”

Miranda looked inquisitively at him, her head to the side, “What what?”

“Y-you’re fifteen?” he asked, incredulous.

“Fifteen and a half,” she corrected, her pointer finger upraised.

“Well…” Krishna said, digging his toes into the soil, “That changes things…”

Birds twittered through the air, their songs the only sound in the field, interrupted only by the occasional incantations coming from inside the tent.

“What happened to my daddy?” Miranda asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you so tall?”

“I ate my vegetables when I was a kid.”

“Why did you almost leave me last night?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it because the man on the tight rope inside your head fell off?”

“I beg your pardon?”
Miranda inhaled, and pulled at a blade of grass in front of her, “Daddy always said that everybody has a little man on a tight rope in their heads.” She put her index finger horizontally in the air, and with the other hand, made an upside down two. “Usually, they do fine with balancing,” She made the two walk along her other finger. “But sometimes, when something really bad happens, or really good, the man falls off; the person that he walks inside of is changed.” She dropped both of her hands into her lap.

“Well, I guess that’s a good way to put it…” Krishna stated, concealing his utter confusion with a grin.

“You’ll get to meet him soon,” she said, nodding, “He was just sleeping last night. He’ll want to see you, and Kami, too.”

“Who?”

“My daddy, of course!”

Krishna sighed, and shook his head.

“What, you don’t wanna meet my daddy?” she said in a hurt voice, “I guess it’s okay if you don’t…”

“No, I never said that…It’s just…”

“It’s just what?” Miranda asked, the hurt in her eyes being replaced with curiosity.
Krishna shook his head, “It’s nothing. We need to find out something from Kami before I can tell you anything…”

“What’s Kami trying to find out?” she asked.

Krishna smiled, his perfect, pearly teeth gleaming, “You sure do have a lot of questions.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. No reason to be,” was the reply she got.

“I wanna see Daddy…I miss him,” she said next, pressing her hand down in the springy grass to aid herself in standing.

Krishna made no move to stop her. He merely said, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Miranda crossed her arms, “Do you remember where he is?”

He nodded.

“Go with me to him!” she whined, taking his hand and attempting to drag him towards the woods. The trees looked much different from how they had the night before; they beckoned Miranda in, the boughs upturned just slightly, begging her to come back.

Krishna, noticing this, allowed himself to be moved, putting one foot reluctantly in front of the other.

They had walked only a few feet when Kami poked his head out of the tent, his red eyes reflecting the tiredness that was burning inside of him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, squinting against the morning sun.

Neither Krishna nor Miranda turned around to answer him; they continued their trip to the woods, Krishna drawn by Miranda, Miranda drawn by some invisible force, calling her.

“Come here, pretty face,” it whispered in her head, “Come to me.”

“You sound weak,” she said out loud to the voice, “Are you sick?”

Krishna halted, and looked back to the tent.

The flap had closed again; Kami had retreated back into its dark clutches mere seconds before.

“C’mon!” Miranda urged, “We have to help him! He doesn’t feel good.”

“Help who?” Krishna asked, Miranda pulling him. He dug his feet into the ground, refusing any movement. He took his hand back, and crossed his arms, “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to go in there like that, especially with the Agrata like he is?”

“I think you’re scared,” she taunted, mimicking Krishna’s haughty stance.

“Miranda, your father is dead. Deceased. Gone. There’s nothing you can do to help him.” He wasn’t pleading, merely stating the facts. His face void of emotion, except for a tinge of annoyance.

Miranda snorted, “That’s what you think.”

She then turned on her heel, and sprinted as hard and as fast as she could to the clutches of the trees, kicking up small bits of soil behind her.

Krishna sighed, his head drooping down, “I haven’t even known you a day, and already you’re forcing me to watch after you…Stupid, stupid mortal…” Wearily, he pulled his eyes up, gazing after the swiftly shrinking image of Miranda. He went after her, but instead of running, he took long, purposeful strides, one of his steps equal to two of hers.
***
Kami yanked at his hair, his eyes boring into the basin of water that sat perched on the ground, its contents less than an inch away from his nose. In it, an image of Miranda running through the woods to the body of her father rippled to the surface, a figure with a heavy, black aura following her, making sure (reluctantly) that she didn’t hurt herself. But in front of her, nearer to her destination, was a white, wispy, something...Was it a low-laying cloud? Or perhaps a spirit? Maybe something higher up on the supernatural food chain…?

“Higher than a spirit…” Kami pondered.

“Oh, Devaki…” he then said slowly, quietly, not believing what he was seeing, “That’s…no, it can’t be…Can it?”

He squinched up his eyes, the tip of his nose now touching the water, sure that he was seeing something that couldn’t possibly be there, that couldn’t possibly be happening. Maybe he was just tired, and his mind was projecting images in the water that shouldn’t be there. Yes, he was sure that was it. It had to be.

It just had to.

Hello there, my beauties! Is it happening? Is everybody doing okay?

Yeah. I'm back. I'm going to start to try and post more regularly; I've been bad about that...I'm not even going to give you any excuses; you've probably got the gist of them by now.

And just to prove that I love you all so much, I just joined Google so I could use the NEW BLOGGER! Which was stupid, to tell the truth. I was perfectly happy with the old Blogger, but it forced me to switch. Bedumdiggity.

On a different note! I have gotten to where I really like Bob Dylan; he's just so awesome! I usually don't really care for the style of music that he does, but wow! Yeah. He's awesome. Gee, I think I already said that...Well, he deserves it. Kookookachoo.

Anyways, here's this really far out link that one of my friends emailed me where Dylan is singing Dr. Seuss books...it's groovy. You should check it out!
http://dylanhearsawho.com/home.htm

Oh, and also, I heard that (and I hate to gossip) Sir Paul McCartney and Heather Mills are about to reach a settlement in their divorce. To that, all I have to say is: HALLELUJAH!!! And I'm sorry, but they've both been behaving like toddlers through this whole thing: extremely immature. However, I have to admit, I have been pulling for Paul; Heather strikes me as a gold digger...I just hope that Beatrice (their daughter, for those of you that don't know) isn't scarred too badly. That's the worst part of a divorce: the children that get hurt. To be honest, I don't think Paul and Heather should have been married in the first place. First off, Paul is almost twice her age. Secondly, they both have GINORMOUS egos. Not always a bad thing, but it just doesn't work in a marriage. Thirdly, they were both in serious relationships beforehand: Paul had lost his wife of 29 years to cancer just a year before, and Heather left behind an engagement for Paul...wow...for hating to gossip so much, I'm pretty dern good at it. O_O

And one more thing: Anna Nicole Smith's death. It was sad, but who wants it shoved in their face 24/7? Definitely not me! Besides, it's not like she had a huge impact on the world. It wasn't like JFK died, or John Lennon died, or MLK died. I'm sorry, I shouldn't judge; I didn't know her personally, but JEEBUS!!! Is it really all that newsworthy? Children are starving all over the world, more than 40 million people today are infected with HIV/AIDS, global warming is getting worse and worse by the day, and all we can talk about is her? I mean a little bit's fine. Mention it, sure. But have it on the news for weeks as the main topic? C'mon!!!

Well, I'm done with my soap box for now! Abrupt ending, I know. :) Love you all!