The stuff that dreams are made of…you know…stupid stuff…things that make no sense…but you go along for the ride because it’s just a dream. But then, right in the middle of all the nonsense, right in the middle of peanut butter and jelly carousels and the Skipper and Gilligan, you show up…and I have to look twice…because you do make sense in a nonsensical sort of way.
You are you. The real you…not the faux you that came back from the war missing parts of your soul…missing big parts of your soul. You’re you. The you I left standing on the pier that night just after 9-11, watching you get smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror as I drove away and the darkness got bigger and bigger all around you. An omen, to be sure. I didn’t know it then. Neither did you. How could we? How could anyone?
You got on that ship and it carried you across the ocean and seas and sucked the life right out of you and I was here. I was home…but I knew. I didn’t want to know but deep in a place I didn’t want to go I could feel it happening. You told me about it once. You told me about the unbearable moment when you couldn’t reconcile your faith with the job you had to do out there anymore and you let go. You let go…and you got lost…and now…after all this time…you keep showing up in my dreams.
The part that has me so upside down is that you aren’t lost anymore…in my dreams. You tell me you’ve found you’re way and you’re back and everything that was lost is restored and it…all…makes…sense…you even tell me I came to the crazy part of the dream for you…to find you…and it is true that after you appear all the craziness stops….but…???…
I can feel you and I can touch you and we fit and I don’t want to wake up…damn, I don’t want to wake up…but I do…and you’re not there…not really…but I still feel you. How can something that feels so real only be a dream?