Last night, my imagination took me somewhere exhilarating.
In the dream, I fell in love with a biker who was my original character, Adam, but rougher. He had a buzz cut and this intense, dangerous energy about him. The kind of person who would make everyone else nervous, but somehow I knew I was safe with him.
The dream took place in downtown St. Louis at night. Everything felt alive: the streets of the city rushing past, lights everywhere, the feeling of movement and freedom. I ended up running away and joining his biker gang. It didn’t feel scary at all. It felt like stepping into a wild adventure, where normal life didn’t matter anymore. His biker gang was like a modern-day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor.
My Aunt Margie and Uncle Dave found me with the gang in the streets. Uncle Dave was yelling at Adam, and even though I didn't want to leave, I went with my aunt and uncle to avoid a fight. But as my uncle was driving me home, I jumped out of the moving car without getting hurt. I called Adam on a red cell phone and confessed my feelings for him. He came and picked me up on his black-and-violet motorcycle.
At one point, Adam gave me a black choker to wear. It felt important, like a symbol that showed the world I belonged to him and with the gang. I remember feeling happy when he gave it to me—excited and close to him.
The rest of the dream was us riding together on his motorcycle through the city. I was behind him, holding on while we sped through the streets. He felt protective but also dangerous, like someone who could handle anything that came our way.
The dream didn’t really end with a conclusion. It just stopped while we were still riding through the city together—lights passing, engine roaring, still in the middle of the journey.
Smooches and think Tink.
