Is There a Cure for Dreams?
I remember years ago, sitting with a group of lovely new mothers in a “Mommy and Me” class, as we talked about the changes that motherhood had brought into our lives. Most of us were first-timers at this parenthood thing and we got to talking about intimacy. Namely, how to maintain it with our husbands when there was a chubby, adorable, needy, often screaming new family member who was drinking our blood and sucking up all of our attention.
We were each telling funny stories about aborted attempts at romance, when I said something to the effect of, “Here we are, having made this beautiful creature with the love of our lives, and we’ve no time or energy to make any more love.”
I was trying to be funny and encouraging, but one of the women looked up from her new babe and said, “Not everyone is fortunate enough to have married the love of their life.”
Her’s was a brave and painful revelation. I’ve never forgotten it.
I’d met this woman’s husband. He seemed like a great guy and they appeared happy together. They probably were. And yet, there was someone else on her mind. Someone with whom she would never be fighting for a stolen kiss, a caress, a hurried tryst before the inevitable waking sounds of their flesh and blood turned into a full-out wail.
Longing for what might have been is a love story that can be hard to ponder. There is no happy ending pay-off – at least not in the traditional sense. The happiness lies in the past, or in fantasy.
And that’s why the following story broke my heart.
“I dream of previous lives-the one where we’re young and you walked me to the car after your gig so I wouldn’t be alone in the parking lot. One where we met for drinks in the afternoon so that we could have the entire restaurant to ourselves. There’s the time a neighbor dropped by. Before leaving he said, “I saw you two last night. He’s in love with you. His eyes never left you and I could see them dance as you two laughed.”
One sultry night you show me how to play my favorite song. The problem is, I have no talent. You sit behind me, press my long fingers into a chord, you slide our hands up and down the neck of the guitar. Then you caress my neck, ever so softly. Butterflies and kisses in the moonlight. We make music together for a brief, shimmering moment. The night sings the touch of your skin into every song.
Your tenderness captures my love.
You propose to me-I accept, swept off my feet, and you let me choose the ring. I imagine the entire scene, the time you first place the diamond on my finger and whisper…now you’re mine forever. Then you take me in your arms, quote Marlowe and say, Now, make me immortal with a kiss.
I keep the good parts of you with me, secure…safe within a box locked deep inside my heart.
I brush my hair; two long strands fall together into one. I toss them first to the left then to the right. Unhappy with the effect, I start again.
I dream in past versions of myself…call my lover your name by mistake, he takes his coffee the same way you always did, then I gaze out the window and wonder if you remember the way you and I fit together like the ocean and the sand…the sky and the land.
I write in streams of consciousness which mean nothing. My mind is filled with chapters of books, with characters living the life I wanted with you. Stories of our break ups, our love-making, your hands on my body. Two are one.
Alas, for all that was and all that might have been. Thoughts of our dream that never came true are remembered as a kaleidoscope of hopes and yearning in passionate shades and paisley swirls. Ghosts and shadows cast by candles haunt me. Waltzing into my mind…stolen kisses in a darkened hallway…your silhouette against an ebony sky…the two of us.
Under the full moon, filled with magnolia on a honeysuckle breeze, you take me in your arms and we know. Days when you call to say you love me…there is always more to be said…of all we want and the castles in the air that you build for me. Our secrets and wishes on stars.
Illusions of you are the key to the magic inside my heart and soul.
A wistful sigh reveals those shattered shards and ashes from a fire long ago.
A tear tumbles down my cheek. But, I’m healing and learning.
And, I often see you and we are one.
One dream at a time.” –Hunter S. Jones