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Learning from Dreams

June 11, 2011

In my dreams last night, I learned how it must feel to have a younger sister whose death I grieve. It was a weird dream. I go crazy again (in my dreams this time) and wreak violence over this girl I know. The physical violence is detailed. I scratch, I pull hair, I poke out her eyes, and eventually resort to slapping her face continuously. I twist her arm backwards in such a way, that the angles of her bones are re-aligned. I am filled with remorse and hate, and my arms and legs do not seem to belong to me.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, I pull out an old, battered leather-bound book with scribblings about love scratched inside. I know that this belongs to my little sister (who I don’t have in my world) and that she had passed away. I tear out my own hair with grief. I am filled with sadness, and I cry hard. I remember that I had forgotten her, and this makes me ache even more.

It was an unsettling dream. I wanted to learn how it all ends, and wanted to stay with my dream’s version of me a little while longer. But I was woken up and I lost my dream sister in a different way — all that was left was a feeling, a fleeting wisp of my dream’s sadness.

 

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