For the Briefest of Moments

Dearest Rachel –

It all felt so real. You were there, in my arms. I could touch you; my arms were around your neck, and draped over your shoulders. You seemed so bewildered as to why I was sobbing so, and holding onto you like a life preserver, as if I would die were I to let go of you.

And then…

I don’t remember what our conversation was about; in hindsight, it now seems so absurd. Something about a marketing campaign or some such. It all seemed so normal to you, and your presence seemed so real. I could actually touch you, feel you. You were there. I’ve never had a dream that engage my tactile senses so vividly.

I thought it had to be real. But where had you been these past six months? I’m working on this campaign, evidently. All very secretive, very hush-hush.

I was so overjoyed to have found you, that you were alive, that I didn’t even consider that this couldn’t possibly be real. I fell upon your neck, weeping, while you stood there, shocked at my reaction.

And that’s when Mohinder, other people showed up. He was demanding to know what I was doing there, why I was interfering with your work, and that I get back to mine.

I have faced him in dreams before. I know that for the last two years, he has had no power over me; I don’t work for him anymore. I could escape him; all I needed to do was open my eyes.

But you were there, and you seemed so real.

Ultimately, my desire to escape him overwhelmed my need to be with you. I opened my eyes. You were gone, you had been gone all this time, you had never been there. I have no idea what I was holding on to; I wasn’t even touching the bolster pillow that rests on your side of the bed at the moment.

It was dark outside and inside. It was probably between two and three in the morning. What else could I do? I went back to sleep, and slept until half past six.

I never remember dreams for this long; this one should have evaporated in the night like they all do. But I was almost convinced that you were still here, for the briefest of moments. And that stuck with me until the dawn.

And I am so sorry that it isn’t true.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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