I was wandering through the rooms of a hotel and quickly the rooms became the secret passageways inside a castle. I was the clandestine lover of Princess Goldilocks. I would sneak into her rooms at night, half-dressed, and then lead her by the hand through the passageways. All the while, we would sneak kisses and press our partially covered bodies against each other. We were young lovers, but without any of the insecurities and self-consciousness young people often have. The passion and arousal were pure and intoxicatingly joyful.
Then the setting shifted to the desert decades later. Princess Goldilocks had been offered many upper class suitors by her parents (like Daisy and Gatsby, our love hadn’t ever been a serious option for her). Since she hadn’t loved any of the suitors, she chose the one who could give her what she wanted. So she chose the one from the southwest who had a huge villa in the desert–the remotest locale from her childhood castle. Goldilocks, her face leathered by the sun, hair cut short and dyed brown, leads her daughter into the red rocks outside her sprawling hacienda. Her intent is to tell her daughter about her one and only love. A warning. Yet as she stares out into the desert, the immediacy of that youthful passion is inaccessible to her. She can’t even picture a time when she remembered that feeling. And she realizes the desert has done what she had long ago wished it would. She may be hard and emotionless, but she is cleaned out, uncluttered and without any regrets. And so she tells her daughter nothing.
-dreamt a few nights ago
