The Funeral

I was at a funeral, dressed in black. The usual church pews had been replaced with tan fold-up chairs, the kind that do a number on your rump after ten minutes. There's little more I can recall about this place; I wonder if it was even a church at all.

The most salient part of this dream was that you were there, on the cold concrete floor. In the middle of all the action was you, but no one was paying you attention. You were laying in a fetal position, eyes wet with tears and hands shaking. Clearly, you were mourning whomever was in the casket.

I was the only one who saw you--truly saw you. Sure, there may have been the occasional scoffer casting a cursory glance, but what I saw was different.

Without contemplation, I stood up and separated myself from the stuffy surroundings. I laid down, took your hand in mine, and our eyes met.

I didn't want to wake up.