Day Two hundred and twenty - Seelenschmerz

There's a dream I have - not very often, but sometimes, and it's recurring enough for me to mostly remember the gist of it - where I, but not the me from now and rather an older version of myself, find myself in an impossible city - most often It's Geneva, but sometimes it's Warsaw. Earlier in the blog's life I chanced a few posts at describing these impossible cities that litter my dreams, but Geneva and Warsaw I never got to write about them. Maybe I'll soon do that. Especially because Geneva can be tied to another nameless, impossible city I dream of every now and again.

But in these dreams I am somewhat older. Though now I find myself closer and closer to that age. There, I am in my early to mid-fifties, and I am healthy and svelte. I wouldn't be able to say just what brings me to these cities - though there's a part of me that often daydreams about living abroad again, and maybe that influences my subconscious somehow. There is a common thread to these dreams, though : I always run into someone from my past, and we spend a long while talking. Sometimes when I dream of Geneva, I dream of Silvia, because we lived there - she still does. In the Warsaw that only exists in my mind, all tall buildings with a very odd style of architecture I run into Sofia, who gives me very detailed explanations about the city. 

There's not much to these dreams, really - there's just two people randomly running into each other, most often going for a walk through the endlessly winding streets of the city. We talk, we leave in good terms. As in real life, so too in dreams : what once was can't now ever be again.

I like this version of me, though. I wish I could run into him in my dreams and talk to him. Ask him what was he did that brought him the peace I sense emanating from within him. I wish we could sit down - just the two of us - and find it in ourselves to forgive us for everything. Maybe we need forgiving from not being able to move on. Because some people do. Some people move on. But not us.

As I age, I find myself increasingly content with things. I had to learn do do with just a little, or just enough. Then I had to learn how to do without - but that one was never, ever easy. It's like you're shown a glimpse of heaven, and the riches that await you just beyond those pearly gates, but then they are shut for you, and you come crashing down. But the falls no longer scare me, and nor do they intimidate me. I know I'm not strong in any definition of the word, but what I do have left of me still is resilient enough to pick myself up again and again, though it gets harder every single time. Maybe that's my way of moving on. To where, I don't know.