Dreams

It means nothing where my bed is in which I sleep. It can be in the queen’s castle or a pauper’s cottage. It only matters that I wake up and you are still next to me, your trembling right arm wrapped around my waist. Happiness is not guaranteed.

Waking up, I  ponder over my dreams. I like the funny ones or dreams full of sunshine. They make me happy and who doesn’t want that. Happiness. Untarnished, everlasting happiness. On those mornings I am ready to conquer the day. 

Sometimes I dream I am drowning in turbulent waters that are sweeping me over smooth boulders toward the sea. Dark shadows cast doubt over me and I can’t get out of bed. But I do. I reluctantly remove the bed covers and quickly dress. The morning is chilly and I shiver. My baggy jeans and worn-out sweater shield me from the unwanted, unpleasant cold of the day ahead. Brushing my teeth I stare at my reflection in the mirror. What do I see? 

Is it a truthful image of myself, or is it what I wish to see?

And what I long for, is not quite there. How do I reconcile? How do I greet this person in the mirror? “Hello dear, here we are again. Just you and me. The light and the darkness. ”

Seeping on the coffee as the first light of the morning creeps across the kitchen floor, I raise my eyes to meet yours. There. There you are. Our eyes lock just long enough, so I can take another sip of my now tepid brown liquid. I exhale.
I squeeze my feet into the sneakers and grab the coat which hangs on the hook by the door. The dog barks and wags his tail. He’s the one who always gets me out for a walk. I open the door and I am blasted by the cold gust of wind. The storm is on the way and it won’t be long now when everything will be covered in a fresh white blanket of snow. Then everything will be quiet. Everything will be peaceful.