In that dream, when my senses slowly return, I know that I’ve been lying on the riverbed for days- Not too long, as all the natural beings under are still wary of my existence.
They remain aloof, politely silent, and wouldn’t come near.
Sometimes I could feel the heavy texture of the chilling water flushing from the waving end of my hair towards my suspended ankles.
I see in the greyness of my periphery view there is the tangling of the dim sickly white and clear above, and sigh as the long,
slender beings elegantly parting ways to avoid passing above my congested body.
Something would always pull my fingers. A potentially dangerous move, but well worth it. Sometimes they’d try to enter, and they often succeed.
I’ve been incubating it. And like every other dream, it recently it has started to stretch and expand and slowly grow clearer.
Last night in the full stretch of sick, blurry grey, I saw him. The details remained unclear, but it was undoubtedly him.
Within the visible scape of the dream, he hadn’t his usual features, however, what remained was the overly familiar melancholy rhythm within him.
But that was of no surprise, the dream was intended for him as well as it was intended for me.