Last Night's Dream

I was in this vehicle with a guy I was slowly figuring out was a serial killer, so I knew I had to get away from him in a casual manner, without letting him know. So first we stopped at some stupid discount store, and then a gas station, but he kept sticking close to me. We were "buddies." Except I knew. And he didn't know I knew apparently.

Somehow I did ditch him. Went down over a hill behind a store and then the dream shifted.

I kept going to this lavish apartment in a city (West coast?) because there was this book of images which fascinated me. I knew the woman author who lived there and I kept hoping to find her. I was worried about her, but not sure why. Notes indicated she was traveling.

On like the third return to this dark aparment, while looking at this book, which is like the size of an old photography album with black pages...the wide ones, scrapbook type books, I hear noises behind me. I don't remember noticing there is another very large room behind this foyer type room (I never looked before) which is a dark bedroom. It has a very large window view on this western city at night (city traffic and harbor?) and I notice the huge bed parallel to the window in the darkness.

And then I see you are in it. The one I worry about. You're being tended to in my subconscious. I bury you during my waking hours. I worry you're sick. You greet me without getting up, without even turning your head away from the window, no excitement, no anxiety, but there is a warmth. I consider it completely natural to crawl into bed with you and spoon you even though you're naked. Even though I haven't asked. I worry that you're sick. I ask about her traveling, if you're okay. You go into your usual non-sequiturs which makes me think you're okay.

I start massaging your neck and shoulders. None of this is sexual. It's more brotherly. And your nakedness doesn't bother me. How slender you are. I hate myself for doing this but I begin feeling for lymph nodes while I'm massaging you. I'm checking to see how your body is doing. I'm pleased your body is cool and not feverish. You obviously know all this but you don't even say anything. It's like you already died long ago. I supppose you did. I think when you were a child. When you were a child, you died. And everything else has been posthumous. Many find that erotic, thrilling, the strange monotone of all your desires. This otherworldly quality in a handsome young man's body. But even though I have been sick many times, I don't. I still find it sad.

There's no doom in the dream, neither you nor I is doomed. And for that I'm grateful. It wasn't a nightmare.

I wake up and realize I was just visiting you. Which is something of which I'm terrified in real life, but in the dream it was like water. It was something natural that I could sink into and it comforted me even with the worries that you might be dying again, this time in the real sense.