My dreams have been invaded. The ghosts of solitude come stomping through night after night, toppling the tiny sanctuary walls I have been so painstakingly constructing, leaving me exposed, disheveled. Leaving me, for once, silent.

There is nothing mysterious about my dreams; maybe they are too overtly symbolic to inspire any bittersweet romanticism or wonderment…

I repeatedly have a dream in which I arrive at his house to borrow something - a bowl of sugar, I think. After he greets me at the door, I follow him up a towering flight of stairs for what seems like hours. When I reach the top, dazed, clutching a white, empty bowl, he is nowhere in sight. And so I stand there and wait again.

This needs no dissection. I arrive at his house and ask him to give me something I don’t have, then climb endlessly behind him, then lose sight of him, then wait longer. I’m actually disappointed in my subconscious for not coming up with anything more creative.

A few nights ago I had a new dream. I open a tattered, white door and enter what is apparently his house. I walk through countless empty rooms, all impeccably clean, trimmed in white walls and wood grain, bright with sunlight. I hear him in the distance but never see him. I finally reach a small closet that is brimming with my clothes, then begin to empty them out.

Again, no enigmatic undertones.

What is noteworthy is that these dreams aren’t really about him; instead, they seem to be centered around the walking. It’s like they stall in the middle and I become caught in perpetual movement, step after step after step – a constant, monotonous walk. It really feels like I walk for hours.

What am I supposed to learn from this? Am I bound to keep walking toward an end I can’t see, toward someone who isn’t there? Am I trapped in the solitude of these empty houses?

Can I turn and run?

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