Dreamy Longings

Dreamy Longings 
Locked in her dream, she knew better than to fight it. She had been here before, but something felt different this time. She could feel him here, just beyond her reach. If she rushed, she would wake up again without seeing him. The scenario had played out too many times for her to doubt at least that much; so, she forced her body to go quiet, stilled her beating heart, closed her eyes, and let the mist swirl around her without fear.

When she opened her eyes, she was outside, the foggy dream mist blanketing the greening grass of her front yard, rising and falling amongst the leaves of the two large maple trees, spreading out over the landscape. Pulled by an invisible force, she moved forward, and the smoky covering swirled away to expose her mailbox. She didn’t want to reach inside, but she felt helpless to do otherwise. She wanted to go back into the house, find her boy, though she knew in this dream he was half grown, his body taking on more of a man’s shape than he had grown to in life. Even as her right hand reached in to take hold of the slim envelope, her head looked behind her, her heart yearning for a glimpse of what she’d lost.

Her fingers clutched around the envelope. The mist became heavier, moistened her skin, blocked her view so mightily that she could no longer tell where she stood, as everything went white.

She awoke in her bed, and wanted to cry with the loss. One more night, one more dream, and she had missed him again. As she threw the blanket off of her, she heard the crinkle, saw the envelope from her dream still tight in her hand. Sitting up, she smoothed the blanket back over her lap, needing the warmth as a chill ran her length.

Laying both hands upon it, she smoothed the wrinkles down before carefully opening the seal. Inside was a single sheet of paper. “I’m sorry,” typed in multiple fonts, each letter a different color. She laughed even as the sobs began, and carefully refolded the paper, put it back into the envelope, and stored it safely in her nightstand, fodder for future dreamy adventures with her son. 

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