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I had been sitting in the sewing room for hours, working on a quilt. Andy Griffin played in the background from the next room. I know my mom walked by to say goodnight, but I forgot. I didn't even look up from my project to make eye contact.
Have you ever had a dream and feel you've been to that dreamscape before? Even if it looks different, it has a distinct, indescribable feel to it that is very familiar.
I have one, though I have not visited in a long time. I think I first visited in my childhood and have only re-entered occasionally. But when I do, I know it's "the place".
When I awaken, it slips away.
It is normally an empty place. There is a light green hue. Perhaps post-apocalyptic. I don't know. But even though it appears empty, I am not alone.
Actually, I remember now. Last time I was one a backstreet behind my old primary school.
Why is it we can remember a few dreams so many years later? That dream would have been 10 years ago, but as I recall it, it only seems like yesterday.
Where do we go when we dream?
I have not had that experience of a light green hue. When you ask "have I been to that dreamscape before?" I wasn't sure if you meant having a recurring dream-which I have often.
Actually I did look up briefly, I remember.
But as the hour went on I just sat and concentrated on my quilt project. I had made an interesting block and wanted to get up and show my mom, or tell her that I was really done quilting for the night now, and I looked up at her bedroom door and it was closed. I walked out into the living room and Andy Griffin was still playing on the TV and I turned it off and an eerie feeling came over me as silence enveloped the house (stupid word to use-enveloped/whatever I'll change it later)
I turned around and looked at her door again, "Was she really in there?" "Had I said goodnight to her?" "Has she been here this whole time?" The whistle of the Andy Griffin show still playing in my head, I walked back into the sewing room and started to finish my block. I broke down and cried as it was eerily silent (another word I don't want to over use "eerily). I didn't think it proper to cry over a quilt, but I wiped the tears and sewed on. Then I decided to sort scrap material, dumping everything out onto the floor and halfway through realized it was too much, so I hurried along and went to change into my pajamas. Walking through the curtain in the hallway near the kitchen, feeling like I was walking by a ghost.
Knowing that one day I will break down and cry when she is gone, but for now, she is asleep and tomorrow we go to the fabric store.
This house will be too quiet. I will long for the sound of the ticking clock, the heater on the wall, and the old television shows that I've seen a thousand times.
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