I was in a house. It felt like my house, though it was mostly empty, and I was waiting.
I heard sounds and went downstairs and my lover was there, with some workmen.
He looked very surprised to see me and pulled me aside, into another room.
He said, "What are you doing here?"
I stood there, with every bit of love I felt filling me, shining out of me.
"Waiting for you," I answered.
He looked surprised, looked like he didn't know what to say next.
"I have just one question for you," I said to him. "Did you try to contact me even once in the past two months?"
His eyes fell away from mine. "No," he said. "I've been very busy with work, very distracted."
It felt like a literal blow to my chest. There was a "whomp" feeling there, like the feeling I get when I'm at a fireworks display and they launch the canisters into the air.
Something fell out of me, fell from chest height and shattered like a pane of heavy glass, showering our feet with shards of light.
I woke up crying. Shivering. My chest aching. Still partly in my dream-state, I watched myself push past him, heard myself say, "You broke my heart. I never want to see you again."
I lay in bed for a few minutes, disoriented and soaked with dread.
"It was just a dream," I told myself, but I couldn't shake it, couldn't shake that pressure in my chest, that horrible heart-broken feeling. Tears fell, and shivers rocked me.
I got up from my bed and went to his, crawling up to him, saying "I had a bad dream."
And he pulled the covers back and said, "Put your head on my heart," and I did, my hands gluing themselves to him.
His heart beating in my ear, I shuddered against him, and tears fell on his chest.
"You broke my heart," I said to him, and my voice sounded like a child's, plaintive, and faintly accusing.
The arm around my shoulder tightened. I told him the details of the dream.
"Do you hear that?" He asked. "That sound in my chest? Lub-dub. Lub-dub?"
I nodded my head. His heart beat strongly in my ear.
"I love you double," he said. "Love-doub, Love-doub."
My smile surprised me. I wanted to groan over the bad play on words, but couldn't. He hugged me close, and slowly the pain seeped out of me. The last time I woke up crying was from a dream about my sister
I got up from his bed. He needed to get going, I knew. He had to be at a meeting in 15 minutes.
A few minutes later I was standing at the bank of windows in the living room, looking out at the rain, when he slipped his arms around me. The feelings from the dream still draped me like a pall, but they were far less crushing than just a quarter-hour earlier.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
I folded my arms over his, hugging him back.
"Much," I answered.
"Good," he said.
With one last squeeze, he turned away in search of an umbrella, his mind already distracted with his work.
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Labels: dreams, love, relationships