The Lucky One

    I always have this dream. That I am wearing a sparkly red long mermaid dress, its neckline is deep and it fits my body like a glove. That I was walking down to a red carpet wearing an expensive designer stiletto heels, being blinded by the flashes of the cameras, and barely hearing myself from all the screams and admiration of people who I don’t even know screaming my name. Securities were line up to block me from the crowd, and flowers and confetti are being thrown at me as if these people worship me. And finally, at the end of the red carpet is a black limousine, with him all smiles, looking so breathtakingly handsome, holding a red rose in his left hand, and extending his right hand as if trying to reach for me.   But of course, like any other day, my dream is always cut short every 6 o’clock in the morning. As soon as my alarm rings, I am wakened up by the reality that I am no celebrity. No blinding cameras or screaming fans. I do not have expensive clothes. I do not have money. No screams of admiration.  And certainly no him.