Dreams Lie Beneath

by Rebecca Ross

One does not realize how powerful a dream is, in the sleeping world as well as the waking one, until it has been stolen from them.

“You know, it’s not a bad thing to be fearful every now and then. The fear reminds you of limits, of what lines you should not cross. Of the doors you shouldn’t open.”

Dreams often revealed one’s greatest vulnerability; dreams were doors that led into hearts and minds and souls and secrets.

“Leaving so soon, Anna?” “Well, you’re knee deep in books,” I said, waving my hand. “We can talk more tomorrow.” “Talk more about what?” he asked. “The fact that you missed me?” I suddenly couldn’t tell if he was humoring me or deadly serious. “I never said that I missed you. I said that it was quiet here.” He took another step closer. “Then let me be the first to confess. I missed you.”

“I wanted it to be you,” he said, his voice deep, rough-hewn. “When I returned to the museum for that final interview . . . gods, how I wanted it to be you.”

I had forgotten how vital it is to be known for who you are, and not for who you pretend to be. I had forgotten how good it is to be seen, even with flaws and scars.

But sometimes things must break before they can be made whole again, so that they can be forged into something stronger.