It is a small house where we are. All is dark, except for the bright light shining down on us. We are both naked. I hold him in my embrace, lying there on the floor, feeling the cold concrete against the skin on my back. His body is slumped over mine as tears roll down his cheeks--he is in frightful pain. Whether his suffering is physical, mental or emotional, I do not know and I dare not ask. I simply hold him, hoping that perhaps, if I hold him long enough, some of that pain will transfer over to me and leave him in peace.
In the periphery of this scene stands a woman. Dressed in black winter suit, she stands there without emotion or expression in the unlit corner of the house to observe us. She is as caliginous as the darkness that envelops her.
* * * * *
Last week, I had a dream that was thematically parallel to this dream from a year ago, waking me up in panic before the first light of day. After some hesitation, I started a new diary just so I could write about it. There are certain thoughts that I would only rather keep within my well.
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