I had strange dreams last night that I actually remembered upon awaking. It happens less and less often these days, remembering. It’s like losing a very valuable part of myself.
The dream started off with me residing in some kind of high-fantasy world of magic and mystery. It was almost as if my family and friends and coworkers had been transported into the world inhabited by my novel. I was somehow both character and creator; I took a meta-step back at one point and completely re-oriented the world map by ninety degrees, after which I manifested griffin wings on my back and flew away.
My dream then changed, I was visiting Venice with my husband. I’ve been to Venice, so I know what it looks like, but the hotel and the river below looked nothing like Venice, and I keep dreaming about this exact same location repeatedly, a bridge and barrier and cobblestones and side streets and tall buildings of quaint design that obscure the sky. I’ve been dreaming about this place since #summersixteen, again and again. Last night it was Venice. Some nights it’s Toronto, or Boston, or Chicago.
I wonder if anyone else also dreams of an unfamiliar place over and over again.
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