I dreamt that I killed the baby brother that I never had.
His name was Peter.
I called him Pete and kissed him adoringly quite frequently.
He was really really cute.
He looks exactly like me and he smiles and laughs a lot.
He was about 8 months old.
I left him in the car and went to college.
Yet besides my negligence, he smiled when I got back to the car.
He was hungry.
I went all over the place to look for food for him.
No, there wasn't any foodstall opened in the mall and I was walking and running on soggy ground.
He slowly turned pale and his eyes became puffy.
My mom said that I am reading too many storybooks/crime thriller books/watching too much of tv.
But some part of me tells me that there is more to the dream.
Perhaps, the baby brother was the other half of me which completes me.
The part of me which I was supposed to nurture and to feed with food, love and attention.
That part of me was waiting patiently for me and ever forgiving towards me, waiting for me to turn around and come back.
I neglected it for far too long and it is fading away.
Is it my faith or my soul??
Or the character in me which I failed to weave into the tapestry of my personality??
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