|Nostalgic vision of a lifeguard station |
in Newport Beach
Not unrelated, probably, to what I was pondering in my last post, I had a very strong dream last night about my first husband Michael. An influence in the dream must have been Patti Smith's memoir Just Kids, which ended with death and AIDS. Michael and I were young, in a relationship, and he found out he had AIDS. The only thing about it I really remember is crying, and begging him not to die. In non-dream life, this is not something I would do. It's more human in some way, more unrestrained.
It's funny lately how in dreams I have so much love for him, more than I ever loved him in person. What's the deal? Is it some early part of myself? Am I dropping the jadedness that came from that relationship? Am I begging myself not to die?