It was unlike anything I have
ever felt before. Considering my current circumstances though, it wasn’t as
unique an observation as it would have been say, 6 months ago.
I was
dreaming at first. The coldness of the concrete was filtering into my body
through my pores, my muscles and my blood. Within me though there was nothing
but fire. Hot and smouldering, close, so close.
We were
standing on the street. I recognised the pattern of fallen rubble, the way the
sun set in the background—its rays spilling out over the water. I shielded my
eyes and tried to make out the other person. They were just out of reach, just
out of sight. I took a step forward, but in dream time I walked hundreds of
metres. Each step brought me closer to them, but they stayed stubbornly out of
my range.
My eyes are
open. I know this because the sun is rising behind me, over the city. I sit up
and my back aches from the constant pressure of the concrete. How did I even
fall asleep like this? The remnants of my dream linger within me and I try and
pinpoint the exact feeling of it. The closest I can come to making sense of it
is that it’s a mixture of anticipation and fear. As if I’m a little girl waking
up on Christmas morning, unsure about whether or not there would be any
presents because I’ve been bad, very bad.