[it used to be that] In my dreams I [wore] a red dress

My hair was long and I was not myself. Some other girl who might be anything. The word lesbian is not in her vocabulary--although, to be fair, neither is straight. Her love knows no boundaries. She can love men without consequences, without the romance or the sex. And she can love women because everyone is a woman, more or less.

Now this is a real story, not concocted for metaphor: back when I still asked G-d to make me a woman I had a red-dress dream in which I found a boy in the cupboard. And the boy trusted me. He was in love with another boy even though the other boy scared him. I mean, they could not be open with each other. Something was always unsaid, and so there was a coldness between them. But there was a warmness between us, you see. And I think he loved me. I might have loved him. But we didn't touch each other, we didn't want each other. Not like that. I tucked his hair behind his ear. I smiled at him and my entire body felt warm. But there was no attraction, not like there is with my baby. Just loving in the way that children do, before we decide to call it something different.

Anyway, I've stopped calling myself entirely a woman and the red dress has disappeared. As if it were that stupid mask from Phantom of the Opera, the one that covers only half of the villain's face.