“My favorite means of communication is otherworldly: dreams—meeting in dreams.”
— Marina Tsvetaeva
I went to a house party once. The house itself was strange; dozens of strangers with dark coats, flights of stairs hidden in cupboards, galaxy-like ceilings stretched out beyond the windows. I couldn’t recall who I came with but I knew someone was here. Someone I used to be friends with. Really close friends, actually. We fell apart a few years ago, fought about it, though I can’t remember what was said - when I think about her, it’s only in feelings, never in facts. And now she was somewhere at this house party, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find her. Still, I knew she was here, somehow.
That’s when I realized I was dreaming.
With that truth came another one, right away. Dreams end, and if I wanted to see my old friend, it was a matter of seconds before everything disappeared.
I can’t explain the urge I felt, in this very moment, the dull ache that took over my body. I felt desperate, ran around in a slowly fading house. I just wanted one moment with this person, to be able to see her.
But sadly, I couldn’t make it in time. I woke up covered in grief.
I’ve always had vivid dreams. With times, I’ve discovered that they held beautiful secrets sometimes, little symbols like trinkets. I’ve lost teeth, became blind, learned to fly, done magic, even died several nights. But most of all, I’ve met people. Friends, lovers, family. Imaginary, real, gone, dead. They all watch over me while I sleep. Some mornings, when I wake up, I can barely open my eyes, their hands still pressed on my eyelids.
A friend of mine once told me that dreams were just dreams. By essence, they were brain garbage, just a way to process, and that I shouldn’t spend too much time trying to analyze them. But I’m a sentimental at heart and symbols bring meaning to my life. But what happens when these symbols become too heavy? What happens when I woke up feeling like crying?
Being confined with your family, though great at times, can also feel very lonely. I keep wishing for someone to share this with, someone who would hold my hand while we sit near the sunny window.
Maybe it’s the loneliness that keeps feeding my nights, as I’ve dreamed about my ex four times this week. I used to never dream about her. But two years after we broke our hearts, the more I heal from her, the more she keeps coming up when I’m asleep.
Maybe it’s not the loneliness. Maybe it’s because we kissed on the first day of Spring, and now every year I’m reminded of her. It would have been six years this month. I’m so relieved it ended before. Still, sometimes, like an underlying heartbeat, I think of her when I see flowers blooming.
Maybe it’s not the loneliness. Maybe it’s because we’re failing at staying friends, something we had promised each other we would try. I might just be missing the bestfriend I used to have.
And so she keeps coming back. Very rarely are we still lovers and I always feel sad when she kisses me in dreams. I don’t think it’s what I want to dream about. My happier dreams with her are the one where we’re just there, as friends, doing whatever it is you do when you dream. It’s always bittersweet though, filled with emotions I still can’t untangle.
Some mornings, I’m not sure I’ve been dreaming. As time passes, I struggle to recall what is real and what I’ve made up. What is the difference between a memory and a dream anyway? Should I just put these dreams in my memory log and pretend they’re just pieces of past days?
Maybe my friend was right. Maybe it’s just brain garbage.
But I can’t continue to wake up with heartbreak dust on my sheets. I don’t want my feelings to be slaves of fabricated stories. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been stabbed in the chest - my dreams can not be knives, they have to be stitches.
My ex and I used to write stories together. Sometimes, we would use the same characters but create alternate realities for them. When we broke up, I thought to myself we were like these characters we had created. In this main story, we were no longer together, but maybe in another one, we were together and happy. In another one, we were just friends. In another one, my least favorite, we would have never met.
My dreams might be memories of another reality. Maybe that’s how I’ll stay friends with people who have left. We will visit each other from time to time. It won’t exactly be their true selves, only memories made from parts I wish to remember. But isn’t it what everyone does, in a way? My sleepy mind may make projections, but don’t we all project wide awake too?
I’m still unsure what I’m going to do with these dreams. But I know it might be all I have left for now. Pieces of people that won’t perfectly fit with each other like images and sounds out of sync.
I might try and feel lucky. Lucky that even when reality is slowly erasing some people around me, I know a road to another place where their colors are slightly more saturated. Maybe next evening, when my ex comes to visit me, I’ll hold on to her a bit tighter. After all, she will be gone by the time I wake up home.