 I had a really beautiful and heartbreaking dream about George last night. I have a hard time remembering the exact narrative, but the emotions are strong. I was waiting for him to come. I was in a place with a handful of other people, and we were all waiting for something. There was a waiting bench, the kind you find at a bus stop. George didn’t come. He kept finding other things to do, other places to be. I would wait, and wait, and wait, and find other things to occupy my time. I began to wonder if he was ever coming for me. Finally, he appeared. He was wearing this green shirt of his, the one with a lightning bolt on it that I’ve been wearing to bed lately. I looked at his face, and it was illuminated. I have not seen him this vividly for a long time. His hair had grown long and wavy and he was smiling, unapologetically, and I thought, There you are -- where have you been? But I didn’t ask, and he didn’t explain. He just stood there with a grounded peaceful presence, smiling. I felt joy and disappointment and love and longing all at once. I went to him and embraced him and wrapped my legs around his waist, and I held him. I forgave him in that instant. But I felt my heart breaking. His energy was very quiet, not wanting or grasping or desiring anything, though I wanted him to desire me. As in all dreams I have about George, he was aloof and unattached, while I wished for him to reciprocate the joy and excitement I felt to experience his physical body next to mine. I held onto him until I awoke. Today I am sad. |
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