I dreamt about my ex-wife again last night.
In the dream, we were working together on something, I think we were pulling a lawnmower along the ground outside. It was enormously heavy but we could just about move it, together. It stank of petrol and there were rusty bits on the handle, fuck knows why it was so important. We kept bumping arms and it was awkward because we weren’t together any more, whereas the closeness would have been cosy before.
I tried making some joke about the whole situation, like I always do and before we knew what was happening, we were hugging and crying. I told her how much I missed her, how sorry I was for being depressed and driving her away, how I wanted to do so many things with her, travel and adventure and just live the lives we should have done if I hadn’t been so fucked-up in my head.
She forgave me. When she held my face, I could feel her hands, the same love in them that she always had. We hadn’t erased the divorce, we were dealing with it, being careful and taking things very slowly. The dream was, as ever, totally realistic and believable. We kissed and I felt so stupidly happy to have this woman back in my arms, arms that have felt so useless and empty since we split.
On waking, it took me around a minute to realise none of that had happened. I had this cocoon of happiness around me, fuzzily wondering where she’d gone to, maybe she’d gone to make a cuppa. I imagined her little face looking all sleepy and how cute she’d look in the blue dressing gown she loved.
Then, as the dream faded, my real life started pressing down on me, like someone was slowly reversing a car onto my chest. The weight of loneliness descended, crushing the brief happiness I’d felt, squashing the light out of the sky.
I don’t know why I dreamt about her this time. Possibly because of tomorrow. Or maybe because I’ve been recording and churned up buried emotions.
I hope I can sleep tonight.