This is the second dream I've had in the last little while where there has been a vacuum.
The time is early morning and the setting is identical to last time. Instead of not being able to feel any sensations, this time I cannot hear anything. I can see his mouth moving in the shape of words, but no sound comes out and the universe is dreadfully still.
I strain to hear any skerrick of noise, to the point where the silence hurts.
I close my eyes and feel a tear at the corner of my eye. The teardrop is so full of life that it seems to glide down my face of its own accord.
Is it actually my tears? What am I sad about? I think to myself. Then I feel the warm soft pressure of his finger tip gently wiping the tear away. As soon as it disappears, another wells from the corner of my eye. I'm not crying and I don't feel sad, but the tears keep coming one after the other. He patiently wipes them away, saying something that I cannot hear.
Then I wake up.
----
A special French toast
In this dream I am standing on a wooden deck overlooking a patch of still water. instinctively it feels like one of the expensive waterside suburbs like Hunters Hill.
Though I am alone to start with, I am soon called in to have dinner with P, his mum and her partner. The time is twilight and the dining room is lit with candles. I don't remember what we ate, but the conversation is excessively friendly as if meeting for the first time.
After dinner, his mum's partner says I should play the piano for them, since it is a really antique piano that he found at some sale once. It is a beautifully ornate piano and the ivory keys are heavy, weighted like no plastic keys can be. A few old musical songbooks are by the piano, and I play them randomly though I don't recognise any of the pieces. We are drinking red wine that keeps getting topped up as the night progresses. Everyone has a grand time singing and drinking, and soon it is very late. We get up to go and his mum insists that we spend the night since it's so late and we've had quite a lot to drink.
We retreat to the guest room and the scene chops to the next morning. Everything is very still, and there is almost no sound in the house. P is still asleep as I leave the room. His mum is making breakfast and she greets me warmly, asking me to join her. We take plates of french toast out to the deck where the dream started, and sit down in the morning sunshine.
The feel of the interaction has changed significantly, and she seems almost effusive as she speaks. I take a bite of the french toast and it is just heavenly - the eggs are light and fluffy, the texture of the bread is perfect and the syrup drizzled over the top has just a whiff of some spice. I compliment her on the excellent french toast, and she turns to me, smiling broadly.
You know why they are so tasty, right? She asks.
No, what's the secret? I put another piece into my mouth, and continue to enjoy the soft buttery toast.
I made them using your eggs, because you don't need them anymore! She says cheerfully.
I scream and wake up.
The time is early morning and the setting is identical to last time. Instead of not being able to feel any sensations, this time I cannot hear anything. I can see his mouth moving in the shape of words, but no sound comes out and the universe is dreadfully still.
I strain to hear any skerrick of noise, to the point where the silence hurts.
I close my eyes and feel a tear at the corner of my eye. The teardrop is so full of life that it seems to glide down my face of its own accord.
Is it actually my tears? What am I sad about? I think to myself. Then I feel the warm soft pressure of his finger tip gently wiping the tear away. As soon as it disappears, another wells from the corner of my eye. I'm not crying and I don't feel sad, but the tears keep coming one after the other. He patiently wipes them away, saying something that I cannot hear.
Then I wake up.
----
A special French toast
In this dream I am standing on a wooden deck overlooking a patch of still water. instinctively it feels like one of the expensive waterside suburbs like Hunters Hill.
Though I am alone to start with, I am soon called in to have dinner with P, his mum and her partner. The time is twilight and the dining room is lit with candles. I don't remember what we ate, but the conversation is excessively friendly as if meeting for the first time.
After dinner, his mum's partner says I should play the piano for them, since it is a really antique piano that he found at some sale once. It is a beautifully ornate piano and the ivory keys are heavy, weighted like no plastic keys can be. A few old musical songbooks are by the piano, and I play them randomly though I don't recognise any of the pieces. We are drinking red wine that keeps getting topped up as the night progresses. Everyone has a grand time singing and drinking, and soon it is very late. We get up to go and his mum insists that we spend the night since it's so late and we've had quite a lot to drink.
We retreat to the guest room and the scene chops to the next morning. Everything is very still, and there is almost no sound in the house. P is still asleep as I leave the room. His mum is making breakfast and she greets me warmly, asking me to join her. We take plates of french toast out to the deck where the dream started, and sit down in the morning sunshine.
The feel of the interaction has changed significantly, and she seems almost effusive as she speaks. I take a bite of the french toast and it is just heavenly - the eggs are light and fluffy, the texture of the bread is perfect and the syrup drizzled over the top has just a whiff of some spice. I compliment her on the excellent french toast, and she turns to me, smiling broadly.
You know why they are so tasty, right? She asks.
No, what's the secret? I put another piece into my mouth, and continue to enjoy the soft buttery toast.
I made them using your eggs, because you don't need them anymore! She says cheerfully.
I scream and wake up.
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