old (2007), Uncategorized

done with the dreaming

O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. – William Shakespeare

It’s the middle of August, it’s raining outside, I’m cold inside, and I just woke from a horrid dream, the kind that makes you cry even after you wake and are thankful it wasn’t real, the kind that feels so real you wonder whether it couldn’t have been the truth. It was so bad I can’t talk about it, so bad I wrote it down through the sobbing, so bad I’ll be scared the next time I try to sleep.

This is the point when I realize, perhaps, there was a reason I wasn’t dreaming all these years.