Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow:
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within a Dream
“Is everything all right, my Love?” I asked, the phone between us, its light illuminating her eyes.
She placed the interloper upon the nightstand, its glow fading from view. “I’m fine,” she said, her gaze stern and cold, as she slipped into a sheer champagne-colored satin nightgown, its silk shimmer catching the dim light, the plunging lace trim daring to tease my desire. Yet her eyes never met mine as she drew back the sheets, slid under the covers, and wrapped herself away from me.
“I love you,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the pressure pushing me farther from her. I stared at the smooth curves of her back, skin fair and flawless, framed by delicate straps and the lacework of a floral design.
I longed for her to turn, to lower the wall I could not overcome, and to let me in. If I only knew what troubled her, or what wound I had inflicted, I would mend it now. Even had she confessed a love for another, or revealed the torment of a divided heart, it would wound less than feeling unknowingly alone. But she did not move.
Resigned, I turned out my bedside light, and slid beneath the sheets. A shiver ran through me before my final, fragile, “Goodnight.”
Lying there, I stared at the back of her head, her silhouette faintly aglow with what little light seeped through the curtains, her long straight strands glistening in the moonlight. I tried to calm my racing mind, but each effort proved futile. My thoughts raced endlessly, replaying recent words, retracing every conversation, searching for clues of disconnection. At last, exhausted and depleted, my body surrendered, and I drifted into a dream.
A sudden shaking stirred me from sleep. My eyes slowly opened to a restless shadow, as she turned toward me, then away, tearing free of the covers. Her body writhed as if ensnared in a nightmare’s war, and I feared the adversary haunting her might be me.
I rolled away with my back to her, pulling the sheets over me, as if to barricade myself against possible attacks, trying to shield myself against her restless dis-ease. After what seemed like endless hours of laying half-awake, I petitioned the Lord of Dreams for an audience, daring to trespass upon his dominion. I once again settled back into sleep.
I found myself walking down a twilight hall that stretched into endless darkness, a cathedral upheld by obsidian pillars, where stained glass windows bled moonlight across cold stone. The throne composed of onyx stood at the far end, and upon it sat the Sandman, silent as sleep itself, the creator of countless worlds.
Before me a shapeless godly, a shifting collage of stolen faces and voices, forever in flux. To look upon him was to witness all the lives you’ve crossed, stitched into a vision that felt both familiar and irretrievably forgotten.
“Why are you here, Mr. Black?”
I stepped into the hall’s pale light, lowering my head. “I have a favor to ask, my Lord.” I wish to join my Love in her nightmare. She is tormented in her sleep and I wish to help fight against the forces that torture her.”
Dream rose from his throne. “You want me to grant you passage into another’s most sacred sanctum? You believe you can save her?”
“Yes.” My voice steady.
The Dream Lord’s voice constricted, cutting like a blade. “Impossible. You know this is something I cannot grant. Every living soul’s dreamscape is their own. I am the vanguard of their privacy. Go back to your island.”
“I understand, Dream Lord, but I must do something to help her.”
Drawing near, Dream began to circle me, his face mere inches from mine, as though I were an otherworldly captive being questioned. “Do you not recall our arrangement?”
“Yes, of course, Lord.”
“I endowed you with extraordinary gifts in exchange for your nightmares. I gave you your dream island, a refuge from all that haunts men while they rest. I blessed you with a longer, more peaceful life by sparing you from your sins, revisited as you slept. Were I to grant you passage into her nightmare, you would forfeit my offerings and once more fall prey to every terror, every demon, every monster entombed within the darkest crevices of your mind.”
“I understand.”
“And what if I told you, your act would be in vain as she will neither appreciate nor honor this foolish sacrifice. Your generosity will be met with betrayal and abandonment. She does not love you. You know this. So why?”
I drew a deep breath and steadied my voice, drawing confidence from within. “For Love. My Love is not something I give to get, It is not a means of transaction. It is not a tool of possession, by which I seek to control another. It is a complete and utter surrender of my entire soul without remainder.”
“Love? I have endured since the dawn of dreams, when man first laid his head to rest, yet the meaning of this one word eludes me still. I have known all the great poets, balladeers and purveyors of love: Sappho, Rumi, Shakespeare, Austen… And still I do not understand why this singular syllable, why this one emotion upends all men, how it can undo even the most noble heroes, sack the strongest wills, and ruin wondrous achievements. Why sacrifice a long life promised in peace for the unpredictability of peril?”
A long silence filled the great hall. “I may live long. I may live peacefully, perhaps even joyfully. But I will not have truly lived without Love.”
The Dream Lord ceased his pacing before me, head bowed in solemn silence. When he lifted his gaze, it was my Love’s face he wore. “Very well Mr. Black. I will consider your request. Return to your island dream.”
To Be Continued…
Love this theming ❤️ It resonates with something I’m grappling right now - can we be selfless in love without sacrificing ourselves? Maybe the next part will help me understand…