My dreams have changed. I don’t know why.
They’re harking back to my childhood—to the bad-old school days—dredging up long-nurtured hurts, and mashing them up with more recent pain.
What’s weird is the mood. These dreams feel good—like my psyche is tearing crusted-over scabs from the edges of old wounds and then sewing the freshly debrided tissue together. Closing holes to create a whole.
I’m afraid to write this, but I think I’m growing up. Plenty of folks will agree with me when I say it’s about damn time.
Or…Maybe it’s a phase.
© Copyright 2021 by Jim Latham