Dreams

The white paint on the double doors was peeling; the living room with the scratched wooden floor was bare. Through the doors stood a tall, lanky woman in Victorian maid’s clothes – or was it a tshirt and jeans? I knew who she was; she was her ex-lover.  And then she was there, as beautiful as ever, telling me softly that she had to go back to the tall, lanky woman. I understood, and felt her leave.  Standing in the empty living room, looking at the half open door with the peeling paint, I felt my heart sink into my feet, “why did I let her go?” I thought.

Then I woke up, and without opening my eyes, I felt her there next to me.  I pulled her to me, naked and warm, as I let the dream fade.  That feeling of loss clung tightly to my chest as I convinced myself it was just a dream, only a manifestation of my fears.

But I’m not afraid, it seems so easy.  I thought we were blissfully somewhere between infatuation and something more, keeping each other warm between the sheets.  Perfect timing for my subconscious to jump in and remind me how fragile human relationships can be. I am assuming too much. Sarcasm always on, unsure of my feelings, or the extent of hers. Looking for the flaws, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Normal, healthy, slow – what’s that?  Where’s the intensity, the uncertainty, the fear?  Oh, it’s right there behind my eyes just before I wake up.