I searched in dreams for the answers. Nothing and no one in dreams knew what I was talking about. There is no lost and found in dreams, only matchless surreal objects of art. I bounced around, and appeared where I appeared.
The wind rippled through a field of sunflowers, but it was dark outside. My thoughts were empty, and needed to stay that way. Full thoughts led to foolish actions. That electric fence was an obstacle by design, just narrow enough that I couldn’t step through it, just high enough that I couldn’t jump over it. I was a reasonable and clever man, and I could simply use a post and get over it.
The field was glorious, despite being illuminated only by moonlight. I ruminated on the fact that moonlight is simply a reflection of the sun, which was shining on sunflowers. What of the moonflowers? I reflected on them myself, missing their caretaker terribly.
Of course, there in the center of the field was a single, lone red door, representing transition. It looked odd, yet fitting. I sat with my back against it, body shaking, remembering how salinity rhymed with serenity, tears rhymed with fears, and guilty almost rhymed with tranquility. Memories were shrapnel that hurt every now and again with a familiar yet painful twinge, and that could never be removed.
Oh, how I wanted nothing more than to stand up and run away from this door as far and as fast as I could. Full thoughts led to foolish actions, and my catharsis had emptied me. That would be running from safety, my inner voice whispered. This door was the only way out. It was also the only way in.
I stood up and walked around it turnwise, and circled back around widdershins, looking for an angle, a crack, a hole, another way. I found none but quiet resolve. Deep breaths near to the point of hyperventilation overtook my body. A feeling of panic gripped me as I froze in place, unable to go forward, unable to go back. Or was I unwilling to do either? The effect was the same.
I could at least open the door. I had the key, after all. With alacritous movement, I suddenly gripped the handle and flung the door wide open. Would I see salvation, or just the field of sunflowers on the other side, lovely as they were?
I could not see through the tears. I could not discern anything beyond the frame, whatever it was. I saw nothing. It was not a place I could simply travel to, not a field I could simply sneak into. I lived in the gap between what I needed, and what I actually had. I stood in the doorway, seemingly the only safe place in the world, where all decisions were in limbo and potential equaled happiness.
I awoke, sobbing. It was only a dream, after all. Still, here was my reality, my personal existence, and the emotions and the longing were real. My bed welcomed me back, and my warm blanket held me. It was my own room. My own life. My own tears. My own shivering sorrow before the first beam of sunlight crossed the window glass.
For you, my dear departed friend. Tá brón orm, ma chroi. Slán a chara. Ba mhór an onóir a fhios agat.