Ceiling Fan

I don’t always remember my dreams, but the ones I do, I like to think I do for two reasons: 1) they are too weird to forget, like the time I went to a bar mitzvah with Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman and we were in a klezmer band, or 2) they are meant to serve as a preface for the future; a foreshadowing, if you will. While that may not be true of the first dream I had as I’ve yet to meet my future band mates or really know what klezmer music is, I hope it is true of the dream I had this morning.

I woke up and instantly I want to go back to sleep to finish the dream, to relish in it as long as I can, but I know it is gone, that I’ll just have the memory of it to sustain me and that will have to be good enough.

I was with him in an unfamiliar place, and I can’t recall what we were doing either. I just know we were together and he hugged me and said in his low, soft voice, “I love you.” I replied with “I love you, too,” but I had my eyes squeezed tight as I said it, maybe even knowing in the dream that it would only be in a dream he’d say those words to me. He even asked me in the dream why my eyes were closed. “Because I want this moment to last,” I said quietly. That’s when I woke up.  I turn over on my side to see if he us there beside me and it isn’t my mind playing a cruel trick while I was sleeping, but as I roll on my left side, my arm outstretched to feel for him, the bed is empty and even though I know it would be, I am still saddened by his absence.

I turn on my back and stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling around and I repeat the dream in my mind as often as the fan revolves.

I relish in the dream as long as I can, in his words to me. The euphoria finally wore off and I am left with the realization this was a dream. Only a dream.  It as the fairy tales of my childhood taught me, sometimes dreams come true.

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