I had one of those dreams again today - the ones you wish you didn't have to awake from, the ones that leave a smear of an ache in your chest as the realisation of the falsity of the scenes begins to descend upon you.
It begins on a very bright day (as dreams often are - bright) and it's warm but not stifling. It's gentle and it's kind and the sunlight is orange and dusty with warmth, not blinding with whiteness. There is terror in my heart (as the dreamer me often is - terrified) because we're running away from. from something - a group of people, a body of individuals, or perhaps a symbol, an ideology, an idea that cannot breathe, speak, feel or kiss. But all the same, lives.
We grin childish grins as we lock palms because we know we are younger and we have breath and energy that we may outrun all that would dare to give chase. It's people I only know, people I miss, and love and although we are all afraid - afraid to be caught and stopped, to be separated from each other, afraid to be disqualified from the chase, to have to be pitied by all others who continue to run - we ran and we never ran out of breath. Shoes would clack, squeal and thud over and against tiles, parquet and asphalt concrete, as we turn corners, as we put a period to each sharp turn. We ran with love in our eyes and our fingers, the faster pulling the slower behind himself, as we clambered down staircases and skipped over bumps and cracks in the floor. We ran and we were free. We were so free.
Waking up was the hardest thing I had to do this morning.
After all, we collectively, as a human race, recognise that dreams do so much more to vivify than the waking man can ever dream of mustering.
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