Hello guys and girls, nice to meet you all. This is my first post on steemit. My name is George and writing is one of hobbies. I have been going through some things in real life, and my ability to creatively express myself is mostly blocked these days. This is the last thing I have ever written. As the title says, this is a dream I had some weeks ago, to which I woke up in tears, literally. It induced me powerful emotions, and reminded me how differently we perceived the world in our much younger years. That day my writer's block was temporarily alleviated, though only shortly- but thankfully I managed to write down the dream in prose. Please enjoy.
I woke up in a Dream. It could not be anything but a dream. I was not lying on the bed I recalled falling asleep at. My vision was not my own either. I am normally severely near-sighted, yet everything looked crystal clear, as if I was back to my adolescent body when the visual impairment had not gotten that strong.
Moving up and down on the bed, I figured why it felt so eeringly familiar. It was my old bed, the one I used to sleep on before my family moved to another city.
A dim wave of light shred itself through the window, illuminating the details of my surroundings. The room—how could I forget that sturdy desk and the small armchair?
This dream… it was as if I went back in time.
Chills ran down my spine as I was thinking this. I was not just in my nostalgically old room, but also physically transformed to the age of 7 years old. A timespan that was not very pleasant for me, as I could never adapt easily to my environment.
Footsteps echoed behind the door. It was a familiar pacing. The pacing of a person who should not be alive. Knocking on the door—a familiar rhythm. Goosebumps overcame my body.
“George, are you up?” A familiar voice. It could not be… her—
As the door opened, the figure that appeared behind left me with tears running down my eyes. My mother was standing a few meters away for me, in her typical strict pose- nearly hilariously so. A woman who died many years ago.
“George, are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?” She seemed affected by my tears.
Rationale nearly blocked my emotions. This moment was not as special as I thought, after all, it was just a dream. But the intensity of the feelings was beautiful—as if I was truly back to my adolescent body, and I experienced childlike emotions again. I was not as stupid as to not cherish such a rare moment of emotional discharge.
“Mom, I had a bad dream…” My voice sounded like I was breaking apart.
She approached me with empathy and gave me a long-lasting hug. “Don’t worry, it was just a dream. Everything is going to be okay. Do you still remember it?”
“I dreamt that I was an adult. 25 years old. You and daddy had both died from reasons I do not remember, many years ago, since I was 18 years old. I did not have a path in my life, I was completely lost in despair.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that sweetie. Both me and your dad are very strong people. We take care of ourselves. We are going to be around for much longer than that.” Her eyes were a bit watery. She sucked her nose. “We are going to be around for so long that you will get tired of us, I promise you.”
Even though I claimed otherwise, I did—as a matter of fact—recall how they died. A scene that had been inscribed so powerfully inside my memory cells that had given me long-lasting post traumatic stress. The knowledge of that made me tear up harder.
“No! I am never going to get tired of you. I promise you!” I hugged her more tightly.
Whoever you are, thank you for reading this through the end. I hope that this piece affected your emotions in some way, like it does with mine. Best regards to you all.