22. #Dream
Haven’t dreamed of you in awhile…

I came “home” from work tonight. And I was tired. So, in casual clothes, I just laid down “for a bit” — that’s what I said letting go onto the bed’s fluff. Of course, I fell deeply asleep in an instant.
I was back “at my place”. Dark room. And I was wondering how come I didn’t turn the light on? Couch across from the window. The window was open to let the perfect breeze of 11 p.m. in.
Next I know, mom was there, in my #dream.
I wanted to hug her.
Quickly, as if she was there on a mission, she took my hand. I was shaking with fear. I thought she came back to punish me for not being better. Or more.
I was so scared and so faking it.
But, pulling me to her, she still took my hand and said:
“Come here… Come, come. Give me your hand.”
And I did. I gave her my left hand.
She took it in her hands, straightened my index finger and almost demanded of me:
“Now, with this finger, show me! Show me where I am!”
Contrary to my expectations, she had a calm voice. She seemed understanding, in a weird way. Knowing and understanding. I was terrified she’d know of all the shitty things I’ve done in her absence. And by shitty I actually mean things she wouldn’t approve of. They might not even be shitty at all.
I felt as if she knew, but wouldn’t confront me for lack of time to discuss them all.
I don’t know if I gave a real answer, or if it was out of a reflex, but, saying “Here”, I pointed to my left temple with a sensibly cold hand and a sobbing attempt.
Why did I not point to the heart? Why did I not hug her and confessed to having missed her so? Why did I not love her? Why did I feel compelled to answer her — as if I was taking a test?…
The whole #dream felt like a test. As if she briefly came back to inspect on the kind of life I’m living. And I felt , as I always do, as if I was falling short. Failing.
She took a couple more rounds through the apartment, like when you want to restructure it and you imagine things into perspective. For some reason, I then pictured having 3 rooms instead of 2. And I was still dodging judgments and possible accusations. Previously today, I had read a Medium article about the apparently real and quite popular among writers, Impostor’s Syndrome. Writer or not, when delivering something, I always felt as if they’d known I was a fraud.
Anyway, next I remember, I was in a saloon with a strange lady getting a dog for her kid… OR something.
To this point, I only wanted to wake up from the #dream, so I could cry and declare my love for my mom. For some reason, love and tears go quite well together in my world.
=Short Intermezzo=
I came to the computer and started pouring it all to you. This thought seems amazingly unreal to me
Whomever you are, wherever you’re reading this from, you now know my #dream.
I didn’t rush to my aunt, mom’s sister who was in the other room. I didn’t call or write to a best friend. No, I came straight here.
What’s a #dream gotta do to become a #Dream?
In Romanian, the singular is the same. “vis” and “vis”. #dream and #dream. But the plural differentiates the #dreams you have at night from the #Dreams you strive for & achieve while awake.
Now, what I like is that both of them send a message. One about what you’re thinking. And one about what you’re doing in relation to what you’re thinking.
Night time dreams tell us a story about ourselves, too. If we listen. So, a #dream becomes a #Dream when we decide to listen.
I think mom was telling me that the fear is just in my head.
Thanks tons, for reading this!
~ D.
— — —
Other #100NakedWords I’ve written so far:
#Again|#Thoughts|#Breeze|#All|#Happy|#Island|#Still|#Like|#Tired|#Anchor|#Stand|#About|#Meaning|#Relationships|#Boys|#Purpose|#Forgiveness|#Inspiration|#Allow|#Listen|#Break I
Past #100NakedWords attempts:
#Loop|#Rhythm|#If someone took writing away from me

