Revenant

For DBJ, with love.
****

I have just woken from a dream.

A dream of how things could have been.

I've waited for four years just to say 'Hello' to you, fighting against my feelings of worthlessness, of being unacceptable to you and to the world in general, only to find that my first word to you is going to be 'Goodbye'.

But in my dream, it's so much easier, I can throw off the shackles wrapped around me by my mind, my upbringing, my expectations of how society wants me to behave, I can be myself, I can talk to you.

In my dream, you're with me, walking with me around a big city, we chat, we smile, I put my arm around your shoulders and you lean into my body, your head rests almost against my heart, you must be able to feel, to hear my happy heart beating a firm tattoo, you look upwards towards me, the look of caring and devotion unmistakeable in your eyes, mirroring the look in my own eyes. As if to bless the exchange of unspoken vows between us, the sun breaks through the hitherto unbroken banks of cloud, washing the ground around our feet with golden light and lifegiving warmth, drawing the whole world into our aura of happiness while still leaving us in our own private zone of love, unassailable by the problems of the everyday for ever and ever.

We head back home, to our home, after the convivial day out, spending our evening peacefully sitting together. I sit in the middle of the sofa, while you sit crosswise with your legs over my lap, like a warm and comfortable blanket, we say little, but are just happy in each others' company, quiet music the background to our inconsequential conversation, until you fall asleep, and I take delight in watching your beautiful face in its state of repose, your breathing deep and regular, your contentment so evident that my heart swells with such pride, taking my joy from making you happy, holding your hand and never wanting to let go, wanting to capture this moment and cherish it for all time.

You wake after a while, smile sleepily at me, brush a stray strand of hair away from your eyes. It's late, but we feel no incentive to move, the inertia of our luxuriation in warmth and closeness overcoming any inclination to action. You gently stroke my hand, the touch like silk on my skin, bliss made palpable, I feel myself drifting away, like some out-of-body experience, almost as though I can watch what's happening from a god's-eye view, all the while slip-sliding towards the hypnosis of sleep.

And then I woke from my dream.

A dream of how things could have been.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B