I don’t dream. I haven’t in years. I suffered horrible night terrors when I was younger and one day, they stopped and I dreamt no more.
Before the untimely end of my beautiful husband, I had these odd waking dreams. Not full on fantasies, because I was well aware and awake. Nor hallucinations. I’d just be doing my thing, my day-to-day thing, when suddenly I’d just imagine breaking into dance down the street while listening to my iPod. Or something similar that didn’t seem to suit my personality at all.
The best of them was when it would present to me a scenario of dancing with my husband. I can see it now, at some dance, he’d take my hand. We’d walk to the dance floor while staring into each other’s eyes. And we’d just dance, close and slow. We’d smile and share little jokes. We’d just hold each other in our arms, safe and warm, protected for the world and nothing else would matter. The music, and the dance.
We never had the chance.
I remember these imaginings; I clong to them. They never happened. They never will. But in my mind’s eye, I’m dancing with my beloved man, instead of by myself.
wildcatleeds
I keep ya guessing
WildcatLeeds 