Beauty contest

There’s a beauty contest going on. This woman that I like (you know the one) is competing. Barbie-like girls wearing way too much makeup, circle around the woman and me, bitching and bullying her. I feel a bit like a dad - at least that’s the only thing I can think of comparing the feeling to. The woman appears to me as an unusually grown-up child.

I feel an overwhelming love for this woman. She’s beautiful, a glowing white aura surrounds her, but her face is just a little bit sad. Even when she smiles - which she does all the time - she looks sad. She’s wearing a short, peach colored dress, and she’s carrying a wreath of colorful flowers.

Votes are being cast. The woman still just smiles her sad smile, and her eyes are fixed on me, not looking away for a single second. I feel warm, kind of melancholic, but content.
I think to myself: «Whoever wins this stupid contest, she will always be the best and prettiest».

Someone wins. I have no idea who, and I really couldn’t care less, but the crowds are ecstatic, celebrating the winner. The woman is still just standing there, smiling at me.

And then, defying all rules of election as if it was common practice, I cast my own vote - for her, of course. Everything happens by me just picturing it in my head, so I picture that she wins - and voilá - she wins.

Everything changes - it gets brighter around us, and we’re outside, all of a sudden. Light, yellow sand surrounds us in every direction, and a few simple, provisional pavilions have been set up here and there, slightly wavering in the breeze. There are no-one around now but me and the woman.

She has undressed. So have I. We embrace each other, and I feel a sweetness inside that I cannot describe.

And then I wake up.