I almost never remember my dreams, and when I do, they're dull and senseless. Last night I had a dream so vivid and perfect, that waking up was one of the greatest disappointments I've had to endure.
He was in my dream. The 'he' who inspires almost every word that I write. He who once was the glue that took the time to piece my broken soul back together. He who showed my what love what was, even though I was too blind and naive to see it and hold onto it. He who I let slip from my grasp and haunt me daily. He is the ghost I want to confront but never exercise from my life. He was my life. He now consumes my core, my being, my existence. He is a part of me. He is the one memory my mind can never erase. He was in my dream last night, and he was gone, like always, when I woke.
In my dream, I received a letter. One of the letters, thick with time and commitment to writing me the most perfect words ever penned. Opening the letter was a delight within itself; breaking the seam his lips and tongue had once touched. I longed to be that seal, unbroken by my greedy, impatient fingers. Once the envelope was opened, and the letter unfolded, I was greeted by that bright, green calligraphy I had grown to love. The meticulous curl of each letter, as meaningful as every word penned. His words, his soul, flowed through his pen. Words for my eyes only. Words that I longed to hear.
The dream was so real. The letter so tangible; so similar to the other letters I had once received over a year ago. They were not just green words on a page, they were him. Oh, how those words were him. They contained everything I had longed to hear for the past year. I was forgiven for letting him go. Time had not deepened the gap between our souls, it had closed it. The desire to once more be together was mutual. His charm and playfulness danced off the pages in this dream letter and straight into my heart. Struck with delight, like Cupid's arrow had again pierced me. I could not read the words on the pages quick enough. My pulse quickened with every letter. He wanted to be with me, in the same way that I wanted and needed to be with him. To feel whole again.
The euphoria of my dream only escalated once I finished with the letter. I beckoned my sister into my room and told her what I had just read. Then, the doorbell rang. She went to answer it, and in the next moment my heart stopped. She guided him down the hallway he walked countless times before. He stood in the doorway; as perfect as he had been the last time I saw him. The familiar driver's hat perched upon his blonde hair. The smile that I had always delighted in, now only feet away. He was there. Though it was just a dream, it seemed so real. He was so tangible. It felt as though time had never passed. We had never parted. We were still together. Inseparable. Friends and loyal Lovers. All the things we had sworn to remain that day we first said 'I love you" and he gave me the most perfect gift. Not only did I have his heart, I had a symbol of it in the claddagh jewelry he gave me.
My dream only got better as he walked towards me, silent. Smiling, he embraced me. In that moment, I felt as though I would collapse into the floor and sink into the abyss. His long, muscular arms felt like they had never left my body. His tight shoulders made me feel safe and secure. Even his scent danced in the air. This could not be a dream. He was there, in my arms. The past year of confusion, isolation, and conflict within myself was the dream. I would not make the mistake of falling asleep again, and letting him go. He was mine again.
Is it fair to call this a dream when it ends like a nightmare? Waking means losing what I've wanted for so long. When the light of a new day seeps into the window and floods the room, he drowns into my psyche. He goes back to the place I've tried to bury him so that I can function daily. He's still with me, only hidden. I've never put much stock on dreams becoming reality, but if this did, I would not protest or think twice about it.
They say everything happens for a reason, but I cannot figure out why I was so ignorant. How could life be cruel enough to place love on a silver platter at my feet and allow me to clumsily walk all over it? I've wondered if I was given this glimpse at love so I'd never make the mistake of letting it go again. What happens if it never comes again? What if that was my one shot at true happiness and I pissed it away in one night? Eight months of happiness, murdered by one night of self-doubt. I hope that the reason for my foolish actions will one day be revealed. Until then, I'll at least have this dream. This memory of true happiness clinging onto my soul.
Lindsey. Twenty-Five. Currently pursuing a degree in Professional Writing & Film Studies.