'Coma'

I dreamt the other day of meeting my muse (or at least, that was how it felt). She had two names. One was true while the other was an abbreviation of the former; something which I immediately realized when the names were juxtaposed in front of me: handwritten on a post-it note and glued to a bulletin board.

As the dream went on, we gradually became very much attracted to one another.

She told me that she had had two children from her previous relationships. A boy and girl. A revelation presented itself when I was transported to the hospital then, where she had the boy, and found in my hands the medical records which named his father: Philip. (Philip left when he found out that she was pregnant. After that, she'd never wanted anything to do with him, she explained.)

It remained a mystery: who the girl's father was (she was older than the boy). As much as I wanted know who it was then, it wasn't pursued; for I didn't want to see the both of them hurt by my reopening of their old wounds--what good would it do anyone anyway, if I knew? (Ironically enough though, the curiosity stemmed made a home in the recesses of my heart: an uneasy, nagging creature kept in the dark, eating away at me whenever it was awake.)

Despite this, I tried to love them like they were my own. There I was in my dream, content that I could finally give my mother grandchildren. And in their company, she shone like the sun.

Then suddenly, there were only the three of us. Me, my daughter and son. Everything around us was white; we were on our way to Somewhere. We held hands as we trekked through slush; our vapors trailed. After a while, we came to the edge of a frozen river. Halfway trying to get ourselves across, part of the ice cracked and my son fell in.

When I had finally managed to get my son out, he was frozen solid, and too heavy to carry. It was then that I inexplicably knew that the only way that he could be brought back to life was when I had completed my journey. And this I was sure I could, even though it would be difficult---

I cried as I held him one last time in my arms before we resumed our journey to Somewhere; I knew that it would be a long long way. A way far too long for a son who was cold, alone and conscious.

But not able to do a thing about it.

( _")