For the past two nights I've dreamt of some version of the mythological "true love". The first was a bit convoluted as it involved David Boreanaz as 'Angel' and our attempt to recover an Illyria-like entity from under a stack of soda cases. Regardless of the subject matter, I woke with a real sense of loss as if I could have stayed in the dream, I would have remained truly happy.
Last night's dream, however, was much more emotionally binding. It's been seven hours since I woke, past the usual amount of time it would take to forget I even had a dream at all and the feeling is with me still. It was a messy and turned-around forbidden love story starring myself and the younger brother of my (fictional dream) boyfriend. We didn't speak a word to each other regarding our feelings until the night we both showed up at the same event (which involved some sort of winter vanilla pudding skiing - as best as I can describe). The moment when we grabbed each other's hands, and covered them with our jacket sleeves to disguise them, rivals any of the painstakingly romantic moments I've ever had in my real life. Just thinking about it now makes my heart race.
I can't say I've lived my entire life as a cynic when it comes to love. I was a ridiculous teenager girl just like most. However, I can say I've lived nearly my entire adult life as one. I've had real, intense love in my life, but it was fleeting. Perhaps it is supposed to be. Perhaps "true love" is always forbidden and can never last. Perhaps that's why we all feel so lost all of the time and why so many of us settle for less than we think we deserve. I don't know for sure, but if my dreams these past two nights have told me anything, it's that I shouldn't be giving up just yet.
*Photo by Mark Nystrom.
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