Dreams of Improbability

I just had a dream, and its impact was such that I had to write about it.

As I give it some more thought, now that I’m awake and aware of my surroundings, I realize more and more that the chances of that dream seeing the light of reality is almost near to null. I say almost near, because there will always be that minute longing inside me, secretly wishing for it to happen.

Improbable, because when someone you know puts up this much of an effort to distance themselves from you, you immediately catch on to the fallacy offered by the dream. You see the illusion, but find yourself pining for such an illusion.

She severed all connections and left me wondering what I did wrong, and now here she was in the dream, smiling and acting as if nothing serious had happened. In the dream, I was entering the library and there she was at the counter. Improbable, because I didn’t think she ever worked there in real life. The setting of the dream, the library, wasn’t like the university library. It was more like a collage of all the libraries I’ve gone to.

As dictated by regulation, anyone entering the library is asked to surrender their ID at the entrance. Now in the dream, I was thinking whether or not to leave mine (which looked very much like the Alumni card I use), or whether to leave some trinket (which I could no longer recall) at her desk, which would make her look up and we’d have a happy joyful conversation. Ha. Even in the dream, I thought it was a lousy thing to do, remembering how she left me clueless and hanging in midair. So, I just placed my ID face down on the counter and went ahead to find a seat.

I found a classmate of mine at one of the tables and sat next to him, and I told him about what I did. I even asked if what I did was just all right. He seemed to know the background story, though I haven’t told it to him in real life. He approved of my action, saying that I ought to give myself some dignity after the crap she got me into.

When it was time for us to leave, I went to the counter and found that she had been playing with my ID, folding it like it was some sort of clay. The card was laminated, so folding it was by far, the most inhumane thing to do. Angry at what she’d done, I grabbed the ID and walked away from her. I could still hear her giggling from the distance, highly amused at my reaction over what seemed to be just a practical joke.

It is only in dreams that I get to see the vanished. It is only in my deepest slumber that I manage to be with them once more. I have no idea what these dreams mean. They just seem to raise my hopes up over something improbable, only to find myself face to face with the bitter reality that they’re probably forever gone.


I wake up into a new day.

There are some things that
I guess I’ll never know.
When you love someone
You got to learn to let them go

-Stevie B, When I Dream About You
-Ed. E.


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