Dearest Rachel –
Hey, I don’t mean to complain about you showing up in my dreams, but if you’re going to do it, could you at least stick around long enough for me to realize you’re there?
There wasn’t much to this one; no visuals that I can remember (and at a little after five in the morning, I’ve literally just woken up from it). All I can remember is singing ‘Happy Anniversary’ – presumably to the folks, but I don’t remember seeing specifically who I was singing to – to the tune of the opening bars of the William Tell overture (since Daniel, due to his synesthesia, cannot stand to even be in the same room when anyone sings the tune of “Happy Birthday to You”). As I wrap up the fourth ‘happy annnnn-iversary,’ to finish the ditty off, he suddenly appeared in my field of perception to let me know that if I’m singing that tune, I don’t have to make sure he’s out of earshot, and he would have been perfectly willing to join in had he known I was going to serenade… whoever it was.
It’s at this point that things get a little more meta, as I’m suddenly aware that I’m lying down and presumably dreaming the whole scenario. The reason I come to this realization is that all at once you’re lying next to me and telling me not to worry too much about it.
I have so many questions, honey: not to worry about what? What are you doing here now, out of all times? I turn onto my side to reach out to you…
…only for you to smile wanly as you fade from existence, as I essentially wake myself up from the shock of seeing you there.
I feel like I should be upset about this. You were right there, within arms reach – and then, you were gone, and I’m awake and alone. Like the singer of “You Are My Sunshine,” I should be holding my head and crying. But I’m not. I’m just too… stunned. Did that just happen? No, that was a dream. What can I make of it? I’m literally too busy processing this to be upset. And taking the time, as I am at the moment, to get this written down before it slips away from me adds to my distancing myself from the moment, allowing me to view it that much more dispassionately.
I don’t know if this is a good thing or not.
All I do know is that I wish it had been real. And I don’t know what to do with myself now, as it’s almost too late to go back to sleep, but certainly too early to wake up. Maybe if I do go back, I’ll find you again, and ask you those questions I meant to.