Sunday, December 17

Nightmare of You

Last night, my dog had a nightmare. He stood up from the carpeted floor and barked in that heart-wrenching, blood curdling way that would make any conscious person jump in fright and produce a slightly greater amount of epinephrine. When my dog had this nightmare, I was sleeping. All at once, as I tried to leap the gap from a peaceful rest into a dream, something interrupted me.

Every horrible thing that has ever happened in a dream accosted me simultaneously. The horror-heroes from every terrifying move I have ever seen were knocking at the front door to my house. I was on fire. My flesh was crawling. There were snakes. There were screams. There was you. I'm not afraid of you, but all fear is rooted in the immediateness of death.

Heartbreak is as close to death as one can manage and still maintain a pulse.

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