As the wind and rain danced outside, I fell asleep after work and dreamt of her sitting at the foot of a tree. If I could’ve controlled the dream, she would’ve been touching herself and shouting out my name, but instead, she was reading a book or a magazine of some sort while oblivious to my presence. I tried drawing her attention to me, but she didn’t seem to notice, and for some reason, I was reluctant to move forward. Fear of rejection, perhaps? Yeah, most probably. It felt like the park in High Wycombe, that one I would play football in with Anthony and James on Saturday afternoons, but then again, it could’ve been in Luton or St Albans. How about Harpenden? Yeah, even Harpenden. That big park Sarah and I used to walk through during those winters months when my depression began to rear its ugly head not long after we lost Bethany. There are photos from that time. Ones that show muddy fields and me dressed all in black and her with a long checkered coat on raising her hand to my camera trying to stop me from capturing her smile. But capture it I did, and even though she complained, I told her she looked beautiful and in turn, she looked down at the ground trying hard not to let me see her blush. But yeah, along came apathy and years of not feeling much of anything followed by slow resistance and words and emotion and more words and regret and crisis after crisis but it seems that despite everything, I’m alive once more and back to save the universe. In this dream of mine, she was stroking a leaf across her chin and then nibbling it before placing it between the pages of her book. From where I was stood, I plucked up the courage and waved at her hoping she would glance up and smile, but when she did, she just looked straight through me. Studying her features, it seemed they resembled Sarah’s, but I couldn’t tell for sure. They felt so familiar, though. They stirred something within me, something hidden and secret, but before I could make sense of them, the dream faded and upon waking I was consumed by a sense of loss that stayed with me for the rest of the day.
A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk
A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com
Categories: Lucid
Dreams are so affecting, and this one was thoughtfully expressed.
Thank you for saying so. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Sorry to hear of your loss Stephen. (((Hugs))). 💟
Thank you for your kindness x
Loss of a dear and Loved one is Always painful time heals so they say, or does it just hurt a little less. Xx
I would say it hurts a little less. Or you just learn how to live with the pain x
Yes. Indeed. Xx
Wow this is great very well expressed
Thank you very much 🙂
You are welcome
Beautiful writing. x
Thank you so much, Holly x
😊 x
🙂 x
Sometimes, being at certain place in a certain moment in time, it reminded you of some sort of a loss you’d suffered, and then, you get, dragged in, to that sense of loss, and just get trapped by the miseries of remembering what you’d lost way back when…
Yes, certain things stoke the fire and bring it all back. Little things, dreams, experience…
Well written and touching piece. Sorry for your loss.
Thank you, Kally. That’s very kind of you.
Very touching post dear
Thank you x
Wonderfully melancholic, I feel for you!
Thank you, my friend.
The king of phantasmagoria continues.
How charming of you. I have to say, I do like that word, and of course its meaning.
Loved this.
Thank you, C.