They come more frequently now, these dreams that haunt and taunt and chide. I do not know what they are about, or whom. I cannot decipher the messages within because, upon waking, amnesia sets in. I’m left with an impression, but memory eludes me. And one cannot understand what cannot be remembered.
Usually, the details are unnecessary. I know what I said… What I felt… Who I talked to… What I shared of myself the night before. I know my stressors and my triggers, the positives and the negatives, and the cause of the effect(s) is almost always clear.
I woke up out of a dead sleep earlier this week… At 4:00am… With damp skin and soaked thighs… Stomach quivering and legs shaking… Clit twitching and pussy pounding… Gasping and moaning… On the brink of orgasm and drowning in my own arousal…
And it doesn’t matter that I don’t remember the delicious details of my dreams in the mid-week darkness, because I *do* remember exactly what transpired before I closed my eyes… I know the conditions under which I drifted to sleep… I know the wherefore and the why… And the whom… And that is the memory I will hold.
But sometimes…
Sometimes…
Sometimes I don’t want to hold the memories. Not of the cause… And not of the effect.
Sometimes I want to forget…
But sometimes the memories I like the least are the ones that surface in my dreamscape. And it doesn’t matter that I don’t want to hold those memories, because within my nightmares, the memories hold me.
And in those dreams…
My fears, my faults, my past, my present… They blur into monstrous distortions of reality. There is smoke and there is water and there are blurred images of men from my life whose visages combine in frightening ways. There are monsters and angels, artists and murderers, and I wake up… With quivering stomach and shaking legs… Damp skin and pounding heart… On the brink of cognition and drowning in fear…
So there is either beauty and breathlessness…
Or there is breathlessness and paralysis.
There is no in-between, it seems.
(Which is fitting, I guess. I never do anything half-way. 😉 )
Sigh…
Either way, the result is the same. Pumped on adrenaline, unable to function, drifting between fantasy and reality. Desperately seeking shake loose the reality of the fantastic.
These dreams go on when I close my eyes…
Every second of the night, I live another life…