hey, elele turkey, did you pluck at my dreams?

A little under a decade ago, not long after I moved from Singapore to Cameroon, I had one of those rare dreams that clings to you for life (I blame the Larium). There’s no story, just a fleeting moment.

I’m standing by open French windows in a parqueted apartment in Paris. White cotton curtains fall to the floor, crinkling in the breeze. It’s summer, and the sun is warming an early sky. My hair is tied into a make-shift bun and I’m wearing a loose linen top that skims low and ties at the shoulders in two small double bows. I’m looking back into the room at something or someone that’s making me very happy.

I have no idea what it means, and I don’t really care for any deeper analysis. I do, however, get a great sense of wellbeing and love whenever I’m reminded of it. So, thank you Elele Turkey for this editorial. Its almost like you were there.

i am not a celebrity, kate mcauley, elele turkey, dream catcher, memoir