Recurring

For weeks now I’ve been having the same dream. I don’t know where, but it’s always the same place, standing in front of a dark brown apartment door, #7303. There is nothing extraordinary or memorable about the door itself, it is very much a regular door.

What is exceptional is the feeling of elation, anticipation and anxiety. All three overwhelming in equal measure. I knock on the door and wait, anxiety increasing. Normally I would look around my surroundings, get a feel for what’s around me. But in this dream my eyes are locked on the door, afraid of looking away.

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, I hear the locks being undone. And just as slowly, the door begins to open. Just as my heart rate reaches critical levels, the world comes to a stop. Standing there, in black leggings and a Star Wars T-shirt, warm almond eyes filled with tears, long ombre hair cascading down her back, and lips upturned into a small smile more radiant than any sunrise I have ever beheld.

My tiny one, my beloved, my dream. Only two words are spoken between us. Spoken in a voice I thought I had forgotten, but graced my ears like a soft symphony on a star lit night. “Little one.” she whispers to me as she reaches out her hand to me. And just as I go to take it, the dream ends and I wake up. Every time. A beautiful dream, a painful reminder of what I can never have again. A blessing and a curse.


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