InsaneJournal

this strange dream
So maybe this conflagration about dreams isn't rubbish after all. At least, now I have something more substantial to throw into the ring. But believe me, I'm not one to discount something simply because it's strange. Truth is stranger than fiction. And last night's dream was certainly strange.



The setting was not very distinct: a large room, like a gymnasium, with a raised stage in the corner. There were about fifty children in the room and I was one of them. Beside me was a girl with blonde hair and a familiar face. She looked at me sideways and smiled, like we were sharing an inside joke. On the stage, there was some sort of lecture going on, and I focused on that for a while. When I turned back to the girl, it was as if a great deal of time has passed, and she was much older. Actually, what I noticed was that the setting and people around us were moving in fast motion--if you can imagine a clock on the wall spinning uncontrollably, it was something like that. As a woman, she was beautiful, and even more familiar. I wanted to... tell her this... But I felt like this was something I was holding back from her for a reason. No, for a purpose. That's the better word. There was a sense of purpose in this dream which cannot describe with words. It was as if the very fabric of the universe depended on this secret I holding inside.

I have never felt such intense feeling for someone else. It was painful not to hold her.

But in this room, she was drifting further and further away from me. I had offended her, I think. Or I had let her down. And this purpose I felt kept me from setting it right.

She disappeared into the crowd. But the pain grew too great. I chased after her. When I found her... She was bleeding out. There was a wound in her belly so deep, there was nothing I could do. I had arrived in time to watch her die. I told her that I loved her, as if that would save her life. But she died anyway.

It was around then that I woke up in a sweat. A shower followed. I think my fever has started to really break, by the way.



EDIT (A few Hours Later):
The fever has definitely broken, but breathing still requires great force of will. I've had an unusual sense of Zen since I woke. No, maybe that's not the right word. At least, it's not the same feeling as the impending death I've grown accustomed to. Don't get pneumonia, kids.

But I think it's safe to say that recovery isn't wishful thinking any more. That's good, because I'm a miserable patient. I ought to remain under self-imposed quarantine for a few days more, just to gather my strength. I don't think I'm still contagious at this point. But that's okay, because I have something of a project today. I'm not sure I should go into the details, but the sense of purpose I felt in my dream has lingered. There's something I ought to do, something I should have done long ago. There's someone I owe a long talk, and an apology, if only I can track her down.

I'm terrified, actually.