Two sleepless nights in a strange bed. A bed that bounces when I turn over. I miss my bed, which lies flat and hard beneath me. I miss my duvet that settles into me, wrapping lightly around my body. This duvet sits on top of me. My feet get caught.
I am tired. I am tired and my mind is wandering, visiting dark corners where I hide the thoughts I don’t like to think. Corners that I normally avoid with conversations and friends and sleep.
Can you miss something that never was? Can you have a memory of something that never happened? How do you mourn the loss of a dream?
I let a dream go once before. A different dream, a different hurt. I let it go and it was hard but it was possible. This one is harder and I know why.
The first time, it faded away. The dream never existed outside of me, outside of my imagination. But this time, the dream is real. The dream happened. It happened to someone else and someone else is living my dream. It’s tangible. It’s not perfect but it’s mine and I’m not in it. I’m watching from the outside, from a distance. Too scared to get close because I know it will break me in two.
And people keep saying, “Thank god it wasn’t you” and I nod and laugh and say, “Thank god, can you imagine?”
But the thing is, I can imagine. I don’t even have to imagine too hard because my dream is playing out and all I have to do is put myself in it.
It’s strange because as much as I want to be in it, I also don’t. If it hadn’t happened to someone else, if someone else wasn’t sitting exactly where I wanted to sit, it would have been fine.
It’s ten years too early and now it’s too late.
It’s harder to let go of something real.