Dreams of happy days long gone are like a rude, flighty one night stand that disappears with the morning sun. You wake up alone, confused, with a chasm deeper inside you than it was before you fell asleep. It leaves you sitting in bed with a panging longing to go back to sleep, but it’s a beautiful day, and there’s stuff to be done. You can move all you want. Go for a run. Ride a bike. Go to work. But that day will feel different, you will feel heavier, stranger, bitter. You won’t be able to truly place the collage of emotions churning within you into a category. But it’s there and it’s infectious, starting at your brain and ending in your heart which seems to be even beating differently today. Dreams of things you’ve had that you’ll never get again. Dreams of what you wish could’ve been. Dreams of a future where your broken past is pieced together. These are all nice. And they are all dreams.
Some people dont dream of these things. They dream of fleeting thoughts gone by the moment their eyes see the light of day for what it truly is. In a way, I envy that. My dreams are filled with those I know and those I’ve known. I cannot escape them in my sleep, where I am forced to confront all that I’ve pushed back.
They say a dream tells you what you truly want. But I want too many things. Apologies. Burned bridges restored from the ashes like a Phoenix to carry me back to those I’ve lost. Explanations of questions that I still have in the deep recesses of my petty mind. Honesty. Fights. Love.
But I will never get them.
I miss my mother to tell me h o w.
I miss my desire to tell me w h y.