My old English teacher and I walked (and occasionally ran) along the very hilly railroad tracks where we stopped at some sort of restaurant I didn’t recognize. He then gave me some sort of heirloom; it looked like a grey Christmas ornament, and was adorned with some form of the word “loveâ€Â. He was very proud of me and seemed honored that I would take something that meant so much to him. I felt as if I didn’t deserve such a thing and wondered why my teacher hadn’t given it to one of his own children.
What's really strange is that I didn't know this particular English teacher very well and didn't like his teaching methods (though I love English and would like to become a writer someday). Also, save a few nightmares, I almost never remember my dreams in such detail and so long after I have awakened.
Any thoughts?
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