I almost uniformly experience very poor sleep. It is fragmented by restlessness, both physical and mental, and I only rarely sleep deeply enough to dream.
In the wee hours of this morning, against the intrusion of a rare and booming thunder outside, I did.
I dreamed of near misses and conversations that only went in circles. Of fears fulfilled that in waking hours I know I have no right to comment on. To care about. I woke nearly in tears over choices I made long since, that despite many long and aching hours of regret, I still know were the right ones.
I cannot seem to finally shake the last binding threads that tether this heartache to me. I know and believe and feel I have learned all I can from it. Without more to broaden my understanding it has simply become pain without purpose; without remit.
And I know it’s not going to stop…
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