Last night I dreamed a terrible dream.
It was full of chaos, and spanned far more time than the hours that I slept. I went through elementary and high school in this dream, relived childhood free afternoons. I met the people that I know now, but instead of them being my husband's brother's friend, they were the kid down the street, previous coworkers becoming classmates. I rode my bike down quiet airplane hangers, chasing the other neighborhood girls through puberty.
And every single one of them died for me.
The bums that tried to steal my bike fell in the fire. My friends, each with their own tender moment, jumped to their deaths. I stood in the wreckage of the aircraft that I had been riding, and realized that I was alone. Then I realized, tangled in the fabric of the parachutes, that this friend had jumped to save my formal gowns. That friend had jumped with my books. Further down, my pets were safe and standing on a familiar cadaver. Every jump had decreased the burden of the plane, but it was all wrong. I wasn't the one worth saving.
and then I woke up.
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