6:01 am, sunday morning. sunlight not yet streaming in the slits of the "room darkener" blinds. the panic is real, even though i am here, safe, warm, in my bed with you.
a dream so real i could touch it...a nightmare so real i am scared even after i wake up. i curl into your arms, let you hold me tightly in your sleep. and it is then that i know you are here for me.
"i had a dream. there was a shooting. it was so scary. everyone was getting shot."
these words that i whisper to you sound trite as i remember--the whispers of my friend who said she was moving for the witness protection program because she pointed a finger at various mafiosa. and then they were there. my friend (?) stood by the open car door (i was in the front passenger seat, and various other friends (???) were in the car as well) as they announced, "this is a suicide." they shot someone. "he wants to die. she wants to die too." and they shot everyone on the street--it was probably 2nd avenue in the east village (or 1st, but you know how dreams are) and i peered horrified through the windshield, watching as the bodies fell.
if they saw us...the open car door...we would be dead too.
and then i woke up.
and then i went into your arms, were finally, i was safe.