The Object of My Secret Desire

I have been dreaming of John for almost a decade, and still vivid are the atom-like details, thoughts, images and sensations recalled from each dream sequence. They haunt me like friendly little ghosts with unfinished business. 

Present in these dreams of mine are specific recurring themes: vibrant colors, water, a baby or small child, desire, a home and the cosmic tug and pull of deep-seated emotions that stem from an indelible history. 

I'm staring out of my apartment window into the building across the street and see John in a white robe eating a bowl of cereal. A few minutes later he's at my front door holding a baby but doesn't know whom it belongs to; I wake up in a vintage Victorian-style house wrapped in an orange towel. I walk out to the backyard and turn on the faucet to wash my feet but I can't shut it off so I leave it running and head back to the house. Just as I am about to reach the door I see John walking towards me in a pair of red shorts and a puzzled look on his face. We meet halfway and stand in silence as we gaze into each other's eyes. John breaks the pregnant pause to express what he feels. And my response is, "I feel the same way;" we're standing in front of a country club playing kick-ball and see a little girl nearby. She's crying as she watches us so we throw her the ball and ask if she wants to play. She stops crying and walks towards us with a smile on her face; I'm in John's palatial penthouse and we're standing in the middle of an empty room. It's dark with the exception of the city lights shinning through the floor-to-ceiling windows. We're standing close enough that I can see his denim eyes turn green as our palpable trance overtakes the room. He asks that I think about moving in with him and I promise that I will. The scene changes and we're in the throes of passion but decide not to finish. The scene changes again and I'm standing in his bathroom with the shower running but I never get in. And in the most recent dream, John calls to tell me that he is having a baby. He seems nervous as he shares his news and I am heartbroken as I realize what this means.  

I'm always visibly affected when I awake from my melodramatic slumber. My racing heart, slightly damp camisole, the smile upon my face or the excitable tingle in my under carriage are explicit reminders of the cause and effect of my dreams. I get so enthralled in these great escapes that there are nights that I anticipate encountering John in our secret world; a realm void of white noise and the only blank space we can co-exist in sans the scribble of being hurt, bad timing and the inability to let go of the past. 

I honestly don't know what to make of the flagrant fondness manifested in the dark and dusty recesses of my mind, nor do I know what to think when I dream of him by day. I am aware that I may never attain what I think I want in either space. I am, however, certain that the sweet and torturous tumble of our cycle has taken on a spin of its own. It is the heated third force in our second act; the object of my secret desire; the door in the floor that leads to a place I have always longed to explore. 

(c) 2016 E.J. Wanjiru