It's strange that I do not often remember my dreams. I thought about setting a pad of paper and pen by the bed to record them when I first wake up but more often than not I can't even remember them that long. No, the moment my eyes open, the moment my brain registers reality the dream in gone.
There are times when this is a blessing, bad dreams, night terrors! that forgetfulness is welcome. But there are other dreams that are wonderful. Or at least I think they are, as I said, I can't remember. All I can recall is whether it was a happy dream or not but I don't know why.
If my current life's 'happy meter' was a little closer to 'perfect' it wouldn't bother me so much. I think that if I could remember those dreams, I could chew them over and over throughout my day, daydreaming and finding strength in those happy thoughts.
Not all hope is lost. Nay. I have found a love I thought lost and she is to me like a dream, a happy dream. I chew her over and over throughout my day, daydreaming and finding strength in that, in her.
Dreams, however are not real, most have no chance of coming true at least not the way you dreamed them. A living dream on the other hand could become true and that makes it all the more frustrating to chew over and over. When will this happen? When will I be with her again? How can I get to that place where we can be together? Will she be ready when I am ready? Will I?
So, there are sleeping dreams and living dreams and the big difference between the two is: hope. Living dreams give you hope to make it through the day but sometimes even hope, the one thing that raises mankind above the animals, the main ingredient to miracles, the key element to invention and creation, can also destroy man. It can be his undoing. Let's 'hope' it doesn't come to that.
So, I daydream and hope and pray and wait for her. I think that I always have done this, from the day I met her when I was 17 to the present. I suppose there was a time when I had put her name out of my mind, when the living dream became a sleeping dream, when hope was lost and all I had of her were fond memories. She became a model of perfection in my mind, a model I used to measured every other woman I met. No one seemed to meet the mark, make the grade. Maybe this is where all that depression and angst against the world stemmed from? I don't know.
Anyhow, thanks for reading. Thank you for consuming a bit of my soul, my mind and my heart. Take care and Happy Holidays!