Last night I had a dream...a dream I wanted to be so real that I made it real. As I pushed forward with my desire, my wish, the sky grew brighter and the world grew bigger. I almost couldn't tell the difference between my waking world and my sleeping world.
Marveling, celebrating in a hopeful way, I went around looking hard, smelling things touching things to test if it was really true that my dreams could become impossible to tell from reality. I ran my hands over things rough and smooth. And I could feel them. I could feel them. Rough rocks, white quartz, just as I could when I'm awake.
In other dreams I can always tell the difference between my dreams and being awake. And so I had no hope that I would wake from this life and it would all just have been a dream I mistook for reality. All of this pain and suffering for the past three years, the destruction of my family, my body, my dreams, my heart, it just seemed like reality. But its really a dream I can wake up from-- a bad dream that will go away when I open my eyes and I will curl up in the dark, in my old apartment, next to my husband with my children sleeping near.
And I will whisper like so many times before "I had a bad dream". Comforted in his warm arms he tell me, "Its okay, its just a bad dream, it wasn't real. Main Hoon Na. I'm here now."
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