I dream of grassy fields, a babbling stream running through. The spring sun is gentle and must certainly have coordinated with the breeze. Insects buzz and hum. A limestone cliff gently overhangs a corner of the field. A picnic in front of me; french bread, butter, jam, salami, avocado, sun dried tomato, wine, champagne. A lazy afternoon with new friends. A climb or two, an exaggerated tale that gets a good laugh. The atmosphere is relaxed and perfect, I sit contented.
I would love to dream a dream of dreams.
As I sleep I remember little, there are but a few glimpses. A void exists. I must travel through it. There is no return once the threshold is crossed. Fear is thick and inescapable. I do not want to go but I must. The dream is so obvious it hurts.
How I wish for the first dream. For just one hour. For just one minute. For just one second. Instead I face an eternity of something vaguely remembered or understood but greatly feared.