“We’ll need some form of identification,” he says, looking at me like I’m trying to hide who I am somehow.
I blanch for a moment because I know that I’ve got so many cards on me – too many. I’ve got every card I own, and they’re not in my wallet. For some reason they’re all in the pocket of my jeans.
I reach my hand inside my pocket, and cards upon cards upon cards fall out into my fingers. But I can’t see my licence. I can see my high school student cards, all five of them. Twelve year old me through to seventeen year old me. But they’re not me anymore. I see my university student card, where I’m still seventeen but I’m in what I thought was the real world. I can’t find my freaking licence.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, anxiety creeping in on the edges of my voice. My hands shake, and some of my cards fall through the gaps between my fingers and onto the floor. “I can’t find it.”
He leans forward, looking into my hands where all those past mes stare up at us, smiling. “One of these will do, it’s just for your name.” And then he’s picking up my tenth grade student card, and I want to scream at him ‘but that’s not me!’, but I just stare at him. I know he needs my ID, what does it matter if it’s from the past or the present? But it feels wrong. It feels so wrong.
He looks at the picture of me, and I’m fourteen or fifteen, depending on when it was taken. I’ve got brown hair and a wispy fringe, and I don’t even look like myself.
“That’s fine, you can go through,” he says, handing it back to me.
But it isn’t me. It isn’t me.
That was actually a dream I had last night. I am quite excellent at remembering my dreams :D They’re not always so normal, though. My dreams are often wild things, and their meanings are pretty unclear (if they even have meanings, that is). But this one felt real.
Do you remember your dreams? Share one with me!
(Also: would you like this to be a thing? Where I write out my dreams and you read them? Let me know, loves.)