Dreams. I used to have them--before the nightmares started. I dreamed of nice guys, love...normalcy. Things like reading the Sunday paper in bed with my lover. But who needs dreams when your reality is filled with a string of faceless dominating men in uniform? Men that pack a thick bulge and are only too happy to satisfy my sexual cravings. Me. That's who. And then HE walked through the door and shared with me, a total stranger, his intimate dream of love. Damn him for verbalizing every single detail of the dream I buried long ago. And now I don't know how I'm going to live without that dream. Or him.
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Julie A. Richman
I must've been 5 or 6 when I started writing "stories". I would write them and hide them. Not wanting anyone to see my "secret" thoughts. I needed to write - even back then. Now I'm just not hiding them anymore. Is that a sign of maturity? Nah... Writer, photographer, insatiable wanderluster, edge-player, foodie, music addict, pop culture fanatic, animal lover, warrior for the rights of people and planet, and avid cusser (am a Native New Yorker, so very little offends me...and if I am offended, it must be pretty freaking bad..like bad grammar!) I am a big believer in signs and if we keep ourselves open, there are guideposts all along the way. Stay humble. Be true. Be you. Life is not a dress rehearsal... Make sure to sign up for my mailing list! Want to send me a message? Email me at julie@juliearichman.com
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