Another one from the notebooks.
The Way We Were
Last night I dreamt that you were there, the way we were. You perched yourself on the bed and picked up the text book I’d been reading from, browsing a few lines. Beaming, you stated back at me and asked what it all meant. I was shocked to see you there. I wanted to blurt out my thoughts and feelings, yet in my slumber you seemed so solid, so real that I felt ridiculous. So I simply answered your question. Then there was a high pitched squeal and a misty haze formed between us. The scene faded and you were gone. I awoke to find myself alone, the alarm clock pierced the air to announce that it was morning.
I could have cried, but instead I managed a smile. For with that brief remembrance came flooding back a hundred memories, a dozen emotions and the myriad smells and images of my youth, when you guarded my innocence. Your face prominent in my mind, I felt that you had leant me your strength. The strength to face the world without you. And as I brushed my teeth, I silently raised a toast.
Dreams are the playthings of the subconscious. Anything that is remembered need never be lost.
Get it done.
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