11:25 a.m. - 2007-09-29
Nessun Dorma
I crawl into bed wrapping the sheets close to my body. I need to feel something against my skin and the coolness of the satin high-thread count is all I have. My only company is my sleeping daughter in the other room and the smooth sound of the Queen wooing in the background. As I hold on tight to the pillow, holding on as if it is the ride of my life, I close my eyes and wish with every ounce of myself that the pillow will change into him (the him I don't know yet).
And in my dream state his body appears next to me. We are happy to be with one another again, having him look into my eyes brings both of us such happiness. I am so happy to be with him, and he says it all without saying a word; that is our magic, we can read each other’s minds. His lips lightly scope my skin with their velvet-ness, his fingertips touching the side of my curves ever so lightly, feeling the goose bumps that his touch produces to my skin. I love listening to his voice with my eyes, grabbing his hair in the heat of the moment, feeling him nuzzle my neck, feeling his palm on my lower back though he doesn’t touch me; causing such heat. His undeniably strength pushing up against my body, his unique smell all over my hair, his body exploring every part of me, turning my dormant self into an erupting force of nature. Wishing I could reach over and simply hold his hand whispering something really wonderful into his ear, driving him wild with desire. But I can’t reach him now. I want to be closer to him now more than any moment in time. But I can’t reach him at all. It is if a fog has come into the island of "us" and all I hear is the music in the distance. It is now raining and I am running, looking for his car but I can’t find it. I am looking for him but he is not anywhere. I am soaked, to the skin and I can feel the rain on my face. I try calling him on the phone but I keep misdialing, over and over it happens. It is as if my feet are filled with cement and I am stuck seeing him in the distance with no chance to reach him. I call out. But he keeps walking....come back. Come back I am here...over here. And the dream changes... I am telling people about some kind of pain that I am in. And most tell me to get over it, or you’re too good for this and what were you thinking....And honestly I tell myself that no one really understands, and how could they? It wasn’t their love affair, it was ours. It was our private moment in time. Our moment. It was us. And no one can really step into what we had, nor should they. It’s so personal, so private, and so real. What are they talking about, I think to myself? I am really angry...because they don't know. I believe his word, I believe in him. And then he shows up at my door with a bouquet of flowers. I put them down and in a split second he is gone. I go back to the flowers and it is a funeral spray…huge with a cross….and I see myself in the casket with ‘sinner’ across my body.
And as I slowly wake from this restlessness that encompasses myself and I realize immediately that it is real. That this was just a dream, but that it is real and that he hasn't shown up yet in my life and ...my pillow is the only thing holding me, not me holding him. And I see that the tears that I let out in my dream state have left the pillow case streaked with mascara....
And I hear a scared voice from another room.... Mom are you ok? Are you crying?
Yes...I am ok honey and No, I am not crying.
Mom, Are you ok? Really? I heard you crying? Why are you crying? Do you want me to crawl into bed with you?
I’m ok; I just miss my mom and dad, but nothing to worry about honey. Everything is fine. And you don’t have to come in here.
She quietly crawls into the bed and holds me. Saying nothing, feeling it all. And as Nessun Dorma plays through my bedroom, the very beautiful Nessun Dorma, the tears come one hundred fold, though I try to hide it from her I can’t hold back. I don't even feel like myself. My pain becomes the music Giacomo Puccini dreamed of when he wrote this. The pain and longing of it all crescendos through my body as if a piece of me has died.
....and my daughter tells me it will be ok, it will be ok mom, it will be....
In time, when my work is done on earth, I want them to play Nessun Dorma at my funeral. And I want them to say I loved deeply.
