I was awakened violently from sleep--I was running, crying, and begging for your safety. The dreams are back--great visionary sweeps of a world in which you and I don't exist--a world without hope for a future and without love for today. And, why wouldn't they return? You turn your back to me when we lay in bed and I wait "Come on sweetheart push back in to me--come on, come on." I run this through my mind over and over, but you don't retreat towards me. So I reach out--giving you gentle welcoming strokes on your back urging you to connect with me, but nothing. "I have a problem" you say, "and you gave it to me You're a walking petri dish of bacteria." "Okay sweetheart, I get it--I'm old, I'm festering, and I'm no longer attractive to you". I lay back beside you on the bed--they'll come again these dreams, and after this 5 am blog i'll understand them a bit better, and maybe welcome them instead.
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