by Shane Mole

Created on: April 15, 2011

The Horror of Dreaming Perfection

I was fighting my way through a dense forest. Crawling through tiny openings in fences. Tearing off skin, inhaling dirt, sweating profusely and crying a river. I was on a quest. I was looking for her. The one who, against all odds, I knew would save me from myself.

I searched through a week of dreamtime. Until I came to a clearing. A beautiful, lush, green oasis of tranquility. Empty apart from a single park bench, beckoning me to ease my burden. I approached it, ready to end my pointless crusade. To join the simple life led by those outside the fire.

So I was sitting on that bench, in the pattern buffer of existence, waiting to be materialised.

Then I felt a presence. THE presence. The entity I met on that spirit-altering evening in late September. I turned to look at her, expecting for all the world to see nothing there. Never was I so elated to be wrong.

She was there, right next to me, just as I always wanted her to be. She smiled the elusive, enigmatic smile that always made me feel as though we were two small children, best friends, playing together.

We had never kissed before. Not even in a dream. But now, it was the right time. No force in the universe could have prevented it. It happened seamlessly, magnetically. The world silenced as the two hearts merged their rhythms, as the lips touched and the hands melded. Perfect peace.

Peace that even her whisper could not break.

She was there to give me a message. A piece of advice. An hypodermic booster shot of love.

"You just have to wait through this part".

She touched my cheek, smiled slightly, and was gone.

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