room, green, and vintage image window, sun, and photography image hipster, photography, and vintage image flowers, hands, and shadow image

How do you know you're missing someone you've never met?
Because I sometimes get a weird feeling, like when you reach for someone, but you don't know precisely who.
And is it possible to dream of things you've never lived? Because at night unknown skies flashes before my eyes, together with sweet laughter that I've never heard and people I've never met. Of all ages and types, they look so familiar to my mind.
Especially him. I've dreamt about him many times. Once awake, I can't quite recall his face, I can only picture few details, like dark eyebrows frowning over big hazel eyes or a gentle touch. But in my dreams, I feel like I know him better than my very own self. And in the morning I feel empty. Alone. I want to go back to the dream.
And them, the people in our dreams, do they miss us when we wake up?

vintage, house, and light image cabin, clothesline, and summer image

I was so close to graduation, finally. I just had to attend one whole month with the tutor. So I had no vacation on that long hot August, only driving in the southern countries with my tutor, crossing endless yellow fields, guarded by wary farmers.
The badge usually has quite an effect, especially when they read "inspector" in it, but not on that one particular time. It was the end of summer and the temperatures were still so high it was hard to breathe. We went to check on an old farmer, a lonely old man forged by the sun and the weather. He did not get intimidated at all, he just frowned when he saw us, wrinkles around the eyes, deep like the ploughed earth.

-inspectors- He said, nodding his head. But then his eyes landed upon me and he hold his breath
-Daisy- he called. I felt a weird shiver, being called like that
-no I'm sorry sir, my name is Jodie- I smiled, thinking he was probably mistaken me for someone else.
He frowned and shook his head, looking a bit worried, and limping with the walking stick.
He raised cattle and sheep in freedom, just like the oldest ways, and farmed the land waiting for nature's timing and autumn's rains. We checked everything and everything was perfect.
Then, he invited the tutor and me inside his small house, to get some rest from the scorching sun and to sign the papers.
Inside it was lonely, the brown armchair in front of an old tv was the only cosy thing. The cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling and the breadcrumbs on the table from a thousand meals told the story of how the lady of the house had been missed for a long time.
He lived alone, he told us, since the kids went to work in the city.
He moved to the kitchen to make us coffee and I had time to look around in the room.
Old porcelain plates and some traditional pieces over the fireplace. And there, hung on the walls, the pictures of the ghosts of the house: an old uncle lost in the War, little children playing, he and his wife so happy and beautiful on their wedding day, two old grey parents, and then … him.
I reached out to touch the wooden frame. It's him...I blink a few times because I can't believe my eyes...I've seen it a thousand times. I've seen him in my dreams...
Curiosity moved my feet a bit closer, to take a better look at the sepia face portrayed in the picture: the hard line of the jaw, the eyebrows, frowning over those eyes. Eyes that for some unknown reason I knew would be hazel, and that look that's so familiar….
A phone rang and my tutor babbled something about having to answer and hurried outside the door.
The old man walked slowly into the room with the cups, and saw me looking at the picture, in silence.
I looked at the man.
- He’s my brother, Matthew … - he said.
Matthew … I felt a painful stab on my chest, hearing that name … this made no sense at all.
- he died many years ago.-
At the sounds of his words, fragments of unknown pictures rushed in front of my eyes: running and panting barefoot through freshly plowed fields, getting up at dawn to milk the cattle, memories I don’t remember, feelings that don’t belong to this skin, a younger version of Matthew’s face smiling sweetly as he throws me a freshly harvested apple…
-… he never got married, you know … - the man continued but I was blinded, barely listening.
The wheat swirling in the wind, the first time we knew each other underneath the olive trees, and our laughter gathering the flock of sheep in the pouring rain… and his marriage proposal...
-… Not after …-
But the pain, it darkens everything, the pain in the chest with every and each breath and coughs and fevers … and Matthew at my bedside, his desperate gaze, glistening between the tears while I was too weak to even hold his hand “Promise me. Promise me you’ll come back to me” …
-… Not after his Daisy died.-
I stepped back, the memories collapsing, and tried to focus on the man’s face. He was by my side, staring at the picture too, his eyes sad, watery. he turned to face me and his hand rested on my cheek for a second - you are too late, Daisy …-
-I-I’m Jodie …- I whispered, more to myself than to him, trying hard to cling to the present and don’t slip away in the depths of a past life...
The old man smiled sadly, as if I just told him a bittersweet joke.
-you should be the one who keeps it- he told me, taking the dusty picture from the wall and handing it to me. And as the tutor came back into the room I was hiding my face lined with tears.

calf and vegan image vintage image girl, sun, and light image bed, room, and bedroom image window, vintage, and photography image boy, photography, and sun image

playlist:
- Troye Sivan - YOUTH
- Panic! At The Disco - The End Of All Things
- Kesha - Past Lives
- Lana Del Rey - Old Money

thank you so much for reading!
Juliet ~♥