The night before last, I dreamed B had a degenerative illness. He was dying before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do, nothing I could say.
The metaphorical meaning of this dream is painfully obvious.
Last night, I had a rather pleasant dream that B and I made up. Yes, things were rocky at first, but he was healthy, he was better. And I, too, had healed from his illness. We were on our way to being happy again.
Waking up sucks. Dreaming sucks. I love my dreams though: the good and the bad. Each dream teaches me something.
Nostalgia can be uncomfortable.
And love can kill you.
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