Another day. Another dream. Last night was the first time I ever had a dream of being a father. From what I can remember. Anyway, here it goes. It's an interesting one.
I'm in a room and a girl hands me a tiny brown baby. She tells me he looks like me. He does. Right down to the smile and the eyes. I'm in awe. I can't seem to let go of him. I feel confused at the same time. What to do now? I call my Mother. I need help. I'm alone in a room with this tiny human and I am in loss of words. He's looking at me. I'm looking at him. My Mom comes in and I give her the baby. We talk about how cute he is. He smiles. My Mom asks me what to name him. I wonder. This is going to be hard. I think of my fathers name. Then, Malcolm. Or Martin. Or an Islamic name. Islamic names are strong and masculine. A girl enters. I don't know her. She's pretty. She tells me she is my son's mother. I give her the baby. We hold hands.
I wake up.
I checked out what dreams mean. They symbolize being anxious for an event or new beginnings.
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