The day started with a nightmare. I was being stalked. I was in university, the university was behind my being stalked and attacked. I had already had a close call and escaped safely.
I came home scared. Couldn’t find my key. And there he was… my rescuer. My neighbour – in my dream. In real life – the reason I cut my hair last. WHY NOW?
In the dream I was digging in my purse and couldn’t find it. Searched and feeling the eyes on me in the darkness. My key. To my room, to my safety. A drop of sweat slid down my face and into the open purse. And he appeared. Right when I needed him. With a key.
His accent was melodic, his smile was hopeful and sincere, and his features as clear as the day he kissed me goodbye in the early morning rain. In the dream he reached out to help me “I still have the key you gave me”. It was a key. To my home. In the dream at least… Perhaps to my heart in life.
I woke with a struggle, not wanting to leave the moment of safety and protection and the illusion of love, life and potential.
All day I battled with what I should write. I took my time. Struggled with myself. Toyed with ideas.
In the end I decided not lie. I have relapsed. Tears have fallen. And I’ve started all over again to forget.