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In My Dream In My Dream
Down around the dream I had before awakening
I dreamt of Linda
Down around the dream
With silver bracelets
Jingle-jangling around her wrists
Tiny silver bells
Ringing from her waist
Hands waving in the air
Without a word spoken
Without a past
To the music of Georgie Fame
The Blue Flames (1965)
In my dream.
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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