We Dream About Them Sometimes

We dream about them sometimes, the people we know and care for: the people our trespasses against we dare to disguise, the ones our affection freely waters like a rain shower which flows out to the sea. We dream about them sometimes, the mysterious acquaintances we have barely met may brush us by in our sleep as a cloud passing the sun. We dream about them sometimes, our loved ones so far away, their thresholds once we crossed in day but now not eyes but only dreams can see them. In our sleep we carry on the mourning we were loathe to discard after our farewell; so the cruelty of life may continue in its vengeance upon our security. We dream about them sometimes, the beloved friends and fellows that the months and years have torn away, sometimes even without a farewell. Our love never dies sometimes, if only to live on at night. And we dream about the people whose comings and goings we dared to question, or some we fought with or scorned, and the useless fantasies we’re still learning to let go of. Those wounds have become scars, but they bleed again at night. We dream about them sometimes, and then we wake up. Sometimes we wonder. Most, though ill at ease, wisely discard their visions. The fools are lost for a season until some new fancy overtakes them. But dreams, as brief as a touch or as cruel as life can get, come to us that we may see them and remember.