A virtual world, a game. A tall, somewhat plain but handsome, sturdy man walks by my side, showing me the amazing things he has there. He didn't make it from scratch, his uncle's money bought it. I find that it's cheating and takes away, but I don't say that. It puts my homemade world to shame, but I am not bothered by that. I wonder at the real feel of plastic tarp beneath my feet when I twist my bare foot around on a circle of it. I hold my hands out under a water fountain and marvel that I feel it like it were real-wet and cold, streaming over my skin. He likes me, this man. He is older than me by a few years, a man to my young woman. I don't quite return the feeling. I am wild and free and unsure, he is sturdy and steady and knows exactly what he wants. He talks to me, trying to bring me in with his kindness and reliability. There is a war. He runs through the jungle with a gun alongside the rest of his crew. He walks into a large, wooden, two story house in the forest of some foreign country. It is a trap. They will all die. There are suicide bombers inside, waiting for them to move far enough into the rooms that they cannot escape when the blast goes off. Run, run, I feel in my heart as I watch from a 3rd person camera perspective. I warn him with the fiber of my being. He catches it. He looks under the bed and sees a handsome, tanned faced young man of twenty something looking out cruelly from his hiding place. Before the dark haired young man can speak, I warn with my heart again. If he lingers, they will die. My man runs and leaps out the second story window and his crew, one lean black man and one short, pretty woman, follow him instantly. The building explodes but they are already on their way to the ground. They are hurt by the fall, but nothing serious. This has happened before. They died. I didn't want him to die. I wasn't sure if I wanted a future with him. I knew I didn't want to lose such a good man, though, regardless. The world needed a man like him. He deserved to live. This was a second chance and fate changed and they lived, but his arm below the elbow was blown off. He comes back to me, as good and cheerful and steadfast as ever despite his missing arm. He sits down in front of me, resting between my legs. Both of us are sitting upright and he faces away from me. Two of my exes are sitting near me. One is hostile, the other indifferent. I don't care about the hostility. It doesn't make me stop touching the man. I rake my nails gently back and forth on his back outside of his shirt. As I stare at his back and watch it move slowly with his breathing, I feel his goodness and I see a flash of the future, of his true, certain, unwavering desire. He knows what he wants absolutely. Before me is a man who knows where he wants to take his future. Next to me, in my exes, are boys who are still just boys. I see me as his wife, wearing an apron, long dirty blond hair that looks similar to his buzz cut dirty blond, welcoming him home through a white door. We have a young son. He is much loved by his parents. The man in front of me is happy. He doesn't know of my uncertainty. Later, he gives me a silver ring with a yellow-green gem as a gift. I take it and am pleased by it's beauty. I misunderstood it's meaning. It is an engagement ring, my grandmother aunt tells me by saying "It's all right, he's always wanted you." It is true. Ever since I was years younger, when he was still a man at heart and I was even more wild and uncertain, he has wanted to marry me. I don't know. I don't know. The idea excites me and niggles at me, forcing me to face my uncertainty. I wake up. I don't want it to end. I want to know what happens between us and to the man himself. I go back to sleep. I go to him and decide I would be a fool to let him go. His future vision comes true. I accept him and we marry and are very happy. I come to love him as he has always loved me. We have a son. I love them all. I wake up. I am happy and hold on to the feeling and events of the dream.
I often have weird, wonderful dreams that I don't want to leave but are very hard to remember or are nearly impossible to tell in a coherent way to someone else. So much in dreams you just KNOW without any logical reason why you know it. So much is felt without any kind of back story. I love my dreams. I wish I could video record them because, before writing this, I believed I could never record it in words or by telling it to someone else. But, whether this dream I have written makes sense or not to others, it makes perfect sense to me and it really did a great job at capturing the feelings and the stream of consciousness of the dream. I can feel and see more than a reader who didn't have the dream can from reading this, but the words call back those things that can't quite be written down to me. I like this and I think I will try it again with no regard to coherence. It's very fun and true to the dreaming! There might even be ideas for stories or something hidden in them.
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