Lives Lived

(As a note, I don't recall any time in the extended past having a dream where my own death occurred.)

Last night, I dreamt of my own death, in a fashion. Recall begins as an aerial overview of cars driving down a highway, where my vision is getting whiter and more staticky, thus more difficult to navigate through the curves, trees, and other cars. My center of awareness was still above the action, but at some point, the vehicle "I" was driving in crashed off of the side of the road.

The scene becomes closer and more detailed as my center comes down to inspect the site. The car had landed in a ditch, and a body had been thrown from it, to land face down in a small impact crater left in an area of soft earth and mud. I notice that it's my own body, due to my hair splayed all around my face and clothing. There is no outward sign of injury, but I know that this body is either empty, or close to losing its connection. It was then that I realized I was in spirit form, looking at my own dying body.

As I stepped closer, I came to see that two silent men were standing near my body, watching the entire scene yet impartial to the action. Also, a wolf-like creature (grander, with a more pronounced snout and gentle grace) lay atop my body, seeming to guard, cradle, and at the same time somehow be connected to it. I realized that, in order to save my body, I would have to interact via the wolf, who looked at me with a bittersweet cast in its eyes.

I looked to the men, and saw that they had backed off slightly, but were still watching. Much like referees, or judges. I moved the wolf off of my body, and told it to do something to help, to no avail. I became incensed, knowing that none of them were going to help me resurrect myself and, if this were allowed to happen, I would in fact lose my connection to my body and die. I turned to my body, still cradled in the earth but now facing upwards, warm but lifeless. I could not interact with it, or assume its essence into my own.

In a final effort, I began to beat the ground next to the prone wolf, who now seemed slightly smaller, with energized fists that sent shockwaves of power where they landed, while projecting in a clear and demanding voice that "No. I will not die. I am not done yet. My work is not done."

With this final salvo of energy, the scene around me began to fade out, and I felt the warm confines of my body wrap back around me as I returned to it, waking gently in my bed.

She didn't like the concept of labels, so I never asked for her name. I was first aware of her as the melodic, sweetly feminine voice that drifted over my head in quiet tones as I lie in bed each night. We shared a room with another man, you see, and their conversations became the music I would find myself drifting off to sleep to each night.

In that way that women have, she never truly thought that I paid any attention to what she was saying in those moments, although he surely knew. At times, he would sit on the edge of his bed, looking down at me with a small smile as his English accent carried over to the gentle laughther of her refrain. People are funny, that way, in that they will reveal so much more from offhand remarks than when they know they have your full attenton. But, then, it's those moments that cause the first sparks of attraction without anyone realizing it happening.

Her humor, her pain, her love of life, her solitude. Listening to these constants were what caused me to hesitantly reach out, across the barrier between us, and gently touch her foot with my fingertips. For a moment, I felt guilt for intruding on her relationship with the Englishman, but that soon faded as I committed myself to the act. Her skin was warm, smooth, and I instantly grew more courage.

"Hey," I said, "Why don't you join me, so that I can hold you for a while?" The room was cold, and having another body to warm the bed seemed reasonable enough. There was some light rustling, and I caught my first sight of her as she crawled across the top of my bed's comforters. Thick auburn ringlets framed her full, beautiful face. Soft brown eyes searched mine warily, inquisitively, for a motive. A body full of life and curves was shielded from view by thin pajamas, but the pure essence of her person radiated nonetheless.

She sat on her feet for a few minutes, regarding me. She was suspicious, but wonderfully intelligent at the same time. I opened my arms, careful in both my honesty, and in my conviction. She knew that there was no force to my invitation, just a desire to comfort and share the peace two souls find when in each other's arms, should she wish it. Slowly, she slipped under the covers, her eyes never leaving mine, ensuring that I knew this was entirely by a choice that could be rescinded at any moment.

Her warmth, her pure feminine form wrapped itself along my side as she nestled against me. She smelled of woman - not the floral or spice that women choose to hide behind, but the wonderful fragrance that fills your nose upon first awakening each morning, your face resting upon her skin. I gently wrapped my arm around the silk contours of her waist, and we finally accepted the comfort each had been unsure of before.

I pointed, then, to her full breasts, my eyes still not having left her own, as I told her that I knew of the difficulty she was fighting within. Fear, sadness, and uncertainty flashed across her face, mixed with the realization that I had, indeed, been paying attention to her remarks from earlier. Any misgivings she had melted away from the severity of it all. Being reminded of one's mortality tends to be sobering, that way.

Over the coming months, the gradual act of being mutual comforters blurred into that of friends, of lovers, and ultimately understanding. Her world was slowly slipping away, while mine consisted of a never-ending supply of warmth, compassion, and a reminder to her that she was always the voluptuous woman I had first laid eyes on. She was, in every way, my world, and her acceptance healed me in ways far greater than I could ever return.

As I lie there, in bed, the haze of reality and dream brought to focus the one thought I had been avoiding: her passing. No longer would her voice whisper in my ears, her warmth comfort my nights. The companionship that we had both grown to depend upon ceased to exist as the disease overtook the last of her will. I would have to start over, without her, and she... she would finally find the rest she had so desparately been seeking.

A sudden wave of pure, agonizing grief washed over me, and eyes still closed clenched tightly in response, sending the first tear I had allowed myself to escape across my lashes. The burning sensation upon my skin ushered me across the bridge from my memories, and she faded into their eternal fog.

It was 3 AM, and I was alone, but forever loved.