Good dreams are always the worst kind

    Good dreams are always the worst kind. When you wake up from a bad dream the world allows you a sense of relief. The sheets twisted around your feet have you safely anchored to the bed, the alarm clock is reassuring you to how much time’s left to spend in bed, and the concrete lack of excitement in the day ahead comes into focus as you wipe the sleep from your eyes. Everything is as it is, and the world hasn’t changed. Wake up from a good dream though, and you’re stuck with the memory; contrasting with reality and how far your world is from your ideal. The sheets twisted around your feet are sucking you under, the alarm clock is reminding you how little time’s left to spend in bed and the concrete lack of excitement in the day ahead comes into focus as you slowly wipe the sleep from your eyes. Everything is how it was, and the world hasn’t changed.

    I remember the first time I kissed a girl. She was young and silly, but then again so was I. We laughed over a game of poker with some friends, pretending to play intently while I simultaneously feigned experience in flirting. The time slipped by blissfully and flowed into the next morning when we agreed to meet at the lake. She asked me though, I was too nervous. So the next morning I met her in the cold air by the lake and we swam in circles underwater, grasping at the fish until the cold water had turned me blue.

    Sitting on the dock we watched the sunrise. The boats were gone and the lake was sleeping. The wood creaking with the swells of the water and the lapping of the waves on the sand behind us saying “Hush, hush” to my chattering bones. And there she was. My arm around her, sitting next to me. The world was here around me and the closeness of it all was incredible. She turned to me and smiled as I closed my eyes. The blood rushed in my ears and all was still. The next day I left for home and I haven't seen her since.

    When I was younger still, I got a telescope for my birthday.  A lens to look at the stars, aiding in my astronomy passion. I brought it outside the first clear night I had that December and stayed frozen to it, holding on for as long as I could. I would crane my neck twisting and stretching my ligaments and vertebra to get closer to the stars. I would cling to the telescope as I drifted through the vastness of space, trying to see what was so far away. My fingers were numb, the world was black and the stars twinkled in the sky saying “Hush, hush. All is still.” When I finally warmed my hands and went to bed I was able to wake the next day knowing the stars would be back soon again.

    I haven’t used my telescope in a while now. Maybe it’s time I dust it off and have another dream.