vivrantth1ng

[vivrantth1ng]

She Speaks Through Dreams

In one moment, I am submerged in a tranquil abyss of sleep, where thoughts do not stir and peace envelops every corner of my being. The next, I find myself hovering outside the shell of my own body, a distant observer to the silent convulsions of my heart—a heart that aches with wonder, yet stumbles blindly in its pursuit of clarity.

Our journey begins in a mountain town conjured from the ephemeral substance of dreams. The landscape is an illusion of perfection, a glittering facade that shimmers with an unnatural beauty. It is a place where every desire is catered to, yet beneath its surface, the seeds of division are already taking root. Though we travel together, he is conspicuously absent from my side. My gaze wanders, catching sight of a creature in the distance—a grotesque contradiction, a distortion of nature. Its form is tall, almost human, yet cloaked in fur the color of dying autumn leaves. Its legs are those of a man, strong and purposeful, but its hands end in claws, sharp and menacing. I name it a wolverine, though it is far more than that—a harbinger of the future, a thing deceptively soft yet capable of rending me to pieces in a heartbeat.

As the group fractures and splinters, my thoughts remain tethered to you. Initially, they are innocuous, drifting through mundane imaginings of your day. But as time stretches and your absence grows heavier, those thoughts begin to shift, taking on a more sinister hue. My consciousness, ever vigilant, forces me to confront the true nature of this dream—an unspoken dread, a reflection of the anxieties that coil around the fragile bond we share.

The memory of our recent conversation lingers like a shadow, its edges sharp and unresolved. You offered me a glimpse into the labyrinth of your thoughts, yet I know it was only that—a glimpse, a fraction of the truth. Even in your absence, your presence is inescapable, haunting both my dreams and waking life. A cold certainty settles over me—you have gone to her, with no regard for the wounds you leave behind. How could you be so indifferent, knowing the depth of my feelings? I wrestle with the ambiguity of it all—fact or fiction, fear or reality? Yet I cling to your words, your reassurances that you need time, that this other relationship is fleeting, inconsequential. But how can something so trivial overshadow the weight of our history?

Our history, to me, is not a burden but a testament—a narrative forged through the trials of life. We have endured death, grief, distance, trauma, and the slow, painful process of healing, only to emerge and find one another time and again. Isn’t there something profound in that? If you were not the right person, wouldn’t it have been easier to walk away during any one of these trials? Yet here we stand, our connection resilient, though frayed at the edges.

The dream warps and shifts, and I never see you return. The landscape transforms into a world steeped in ancient mythology, where the lines between reality and fantasy blur. A woman, faceless and eternal, writhes in agony on the cabin floor, the act of birth rendered in blood and whispers. Symbols emerge on her stomach, carved by an unseen hand—four sigils, two lines, all traced in crimson. My heart sinks with the weight of unspoken dread. These are the fears I have tried to bury, now laid bare before me. My anxieties, once abstract, have taken on a physical form, their reality undeniable.

What should I do with this knowledge? Should I rage against the betrayal, sever all ties, erase you from the narrative of my life? But no anger comes. Instead, I feel a detachment, a numbness as I leave the woman and her bloody prophecy behind. The scene shifts once more, this time to a dinner with a woman whose life I once watched from afar, who endured her own trials. Perhaps she is a motherly figure, or perhaps she is a reflection of my own psyche, a manifestation of the strength I seek within myself.

The only moment that lingers is when I embrace her, whispering words of solace, “I am proud of you.”

And in that moment, the meaning crystallizes—no matter the outcome, no matter the fears that gnaw at the edges of my mind, I have done all I can. And it will be enough. This dream is a lesson in relinquishing the illusion of control, in accepting that life’s currents cannot be mastered, only navigated with grace.