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‘That girl over there… you see her?’

‘Yeah, what about her?’

‘They broke the mold after making her.’

‘Yeah, I see what you mean. But you know what I think, I think a mold is broken every time a woman is made?’

‘Yeah, true.’

‘How about us, you think we each had our own mold?’

‘Nah,  I think they kept using the same old one over and over again’

 It was a cold, cold day when she left us, she took all the light with her, she took all the music with her, she took all the laughter with her,  and we were left cold on that cold, cold day she left us.

It was a cold, cold day when she left us, we had to save our drowned hearts, we had to swim against the pressing waters, we had to pull our drenched bodies out, and we remained gasping for breath on that cold, cold day she left us.

It was a cold, cold day when she left us, we looked for her in our hearts, we looked for her in our dreams, we looked for her in our souls.  And we found her there, and there, and there.

And that is where she now lives – in us, always, forever.

When the spiced kulfi of India, becomes the fragrant bastani of Persia, becomes the aromatic bouza of Levant, becomes the fruity gelato of Italy, becomes the tangy sorbet of France, becomes the creamy ice cream of England.

Become one big bowl of frozen desserts with different flavors, colors, aromas and textures.

Just like us people.

 

“Hey, old friend.  Remember the day you betrayed me.  It’s been years.  But I haven’t forgotten. The bitter taste still lingers on my tongue.

Hey, old friend.  Remember when I showed you how to kick a ball, dunk a basket, hit a home run.  The other boys laughed, only I stood by you.  But then you gave me your back.  The clench of my fist still hasn’t loosened.

Hey, old friend.  Remember when I taught you how to shave your chin, style your hair, pick your clothes.  You came out looking good for the girls.  But then you denied me.  The punch in my chest still sinks deep.

Hey, old friend.  My little boy sits next to your little boy in class.  I said to him, ‘His father was an old friend.’  But I didn’t tell him of your bitter tasting, chest punching, fist clenching betrayal.  I taught my son well, I hope you have taught yours better.”

just a little dream to dream.

like the little boy does, with his little toy boat, in the little bathroom sink, making little water splashes, among little rubber fishes, under the soft ceiling light.

just a little dream to dream.

we can sail weekend boats, and cruise blue waters, trail white sea foam, pass silver fishes swimming, and soak the golden sun above.

with just a little dream to dream.