Morir Soñando (To Die Dreaming)

¡Hola! Everybody…
I’ve had to do a lot of writing related to my work, cutting short my creative writing time. I’m looking forward to some time off during the holidays… anyone wanna help me stoke my fireplace? LOL

I wrote the following a while back. I have a “funny” relationship to my dreams (none of which I ever remember!) and I can say I write while dreaming…

Iceland_ 134

-=[ To Die Dreaming ]=-

Dreaming men are haunted men.
— Stephen Vincent Benet

… The thought of her beauty awakens me sometimes, from the middle of dreams I can’t remember. It’s not the image of her face, the softness of her skin, but just the sudden awareness of her total beauty – that first strike before any of the details become clear — that jolts me awake and leaves me longing on the broken shoals of my bed.

For a brief moment, I’m upset she’s not here with me, but the anger gradually subsides into longing, and I stand and pace, haunting the darkness of my room, thinking of possibilities. Gradually, I come to the awareness that there’s no reason for anger, only choices. I ponder all this for what seems like hours and it’s the thought of her beauty that makes me lie back on my bed, weighing me down so that I plummet through the thin fabric of wake and sleep and drown in the middle of dreams I don’t remember…

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