Just you and I, like old times.
We are on a hill and everything is just so blindingly green that it makes my eyes hurt.
You are wearing blue and you are waving to me from a distance.
I roll down one end of the hill towards a plain piece of land.
I can hear you laugh as I roll down, I have my eyes shut tight but I open them from time to time, there are these sharp blades of grass (a happy sharp, not an evil poke-your-eyes-out sharp, mind you) and there is moss on the few rocks here and there and there are kites in the air and the sky is cheerfully blue.
You roll down another end, arms in the air, squealing in delight but your end is steeper and you end up at bottom, in a pile of rocks.
So we decide to have a go again from my, less-steeper, end.
But there are all these gypsy children here now and they are flinging down goats and water cans and these twisted silver knobs and we have to wait for our turn.
And I turn to say something to you and you are gone.
But it is my dream and I already knew you would leave so it is okay.
I wake up and I am happy.
You must be doing okay too.
I think about texting you but then I don’t.
In my dream, we were happy even when the kids start throwing rubble down the hill and we couldn’t get a turn.
We were happy even when you go away because I knew you were happy wherever you disappeared off to and because being alone didn’t terrify me.
The dream makes me smile.
And then it makes me terribly upset for the rest of the day.
The subconscious really doesn’t have a clue about what has long died, does it?
“When you are young, you think you can get rid of people and things and leave them behind.
Time is frozen in dreams.
You can never get away from where you have been.” – Margaret Atwood.
The subconscious contains within it, a plethora of emotions, hopes, fears, memories.
Muddle up these very essential ingredients and you have dreams.
What do you dream of?
I dream of my own version of the Triwizard tournament a lot.
I dream of this place with crazy elevators a lot too, I can never decide where to get off.
Each elevator leads to only one shop and although its very loud, I am the only person in the mall.
And I dream of Kashmir a lot.
And desserts and the foggy darkness outside an airplane window on a late night flight and dogs.
Once I dreamt I had grey wings and I flew to the highest point one could possibly fly to.
At that point, between the moon and the stars and the dark clouds was a well and my wings withered and fell into the well and I came falling all the way down.
I dream also of what inevitably awaits us, death.
Not my own, never my own, but you guys, you all die in imaginative ways and I always wake up in a cold sweat.
One thing that is present in almost all of my nightmares is gauze; pale white and fragile and the way it clings so lovingly to the wound.
Nearly all of my worst nightmares culminate in a string of gauze spread out upon a stretcher; signifying death most probably.
I dream of horrendous ideas.
I dream of all kinds of events occurring.
But the most important aspect is usually people. *small mind*
Some appearances are so frighteningly recurring that one seems to wonder why these people have nowhere else to crash for the night, why always your sofa?
Others are sweet and surprising.
Some people come to remind us of days gone by, they come unchanged.
What concepts we sometimes do manage to grasp in the real, we forget entirely when we imagine.
And thus, mostly people appear as you like them to be; just a figment of your imagination and perfectly so.
What you think you have let go of in real, sometimes you cling on to as tightly in the world of the subconscious.
Some people , although they may not make an appearance are always there, sleeping upstairs, in another room, out of your view but always, reassuringly there.
Some people come back from the dead to let us make that one last conversation we wanted to have.
Other people have a habit of watching you out of the shadows, an eye peering out of a corner and you have to be careful not to look back.
You get used to them being there all the time, and it ceases to scare you.
With our eyes open, we know what to do, how to react, what to say.
With our eyes shut, we lose all reason.
What we spend days convincing ourselves to forget, our subconscious brings up again at night.
Behind our shut eyes, it replays each and every memory, improved, with innovative conclusions and leading to new beginnings.
The subconscious is but a tormenter.
The leash it keeps us on is hope.
Does it not understand that there is nothing crueler to a person than false hope?
"And the days, they linger on
And every night, what I'm waiting for
Is the real possibility I may meet you in my dream
And sometimes you're there
And you're talking back to me
Come the morning I could swear you're next to me"
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| I do have my very own dream catcher. It just doesnt work. :/ | |
