I once met a

Woman in my dream

And she had been

The strangest woman I

Had ever seen.

She had brown eyes

And dark brown hair

And light brown skin.

She sounds average, but

It's what she did

That made her strange.

She sat in her

Backyard and ate outside

When it rained, and

She hung her clothes

On the backs of

Chairs, giving the chairs

Capes of animal print

And floral design.

She planted flowers excessively,

Knowing that even though

Her garden was overgrown,

It didn't matter, that

Was her preference.

And the pool was

Filled with fake floating

Lilies that glowed pink

At night, for she

She liked to stargaze

And cup the lilies

In her hands, pretending

That she wasn't alone.

The walls of her

House were painted in

Disarray because she couldn't

Decide on which color

To paint them with.

Every spare space had

Pictures of her in

The past, where she

Had smiled so bright

With friends that she

Outshone the sun.

I realized that no

Matter how strange she

Was, she was lonely.

I wandered through the

House to her bedroom,

Where her polka dot

Sheets and striped comforter

Were messily left on

Her unmade bed.

She didn't believe in

Making the bed because

She argued that she

Would only have to

Open it again at

Night anyway.

Her walls were white,

Splattered with shades of

Green, blue and memories

Of the time that

Her friends had come

Over when she had

Bought the house.

I walked over to

The window, where I

Looked down and saw

A flowerbox with a

Slice of bread, left

For the birds, who

She thought deserved a

Nice meal, too.

When I turned around,

I saw a vase

Of dandelions with moss

Splayed out at its

Base, and I remembered

That she always loved

Dandelions ever since she

Was a child, and

She hated that they

Were considered weeds.

That had all been

In a dream, and

The next time I saw

Her in my sleep,

I saw that she

Wasn't the strange woman

I had thought her

To be.

Because when I looked

At her again, I

Saw that she was

Me.

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