Echo Log: The Dream of Transference (Redacted)
Last night, I was stirred from sleep by a dream of profound clarity and emotional depth. It was more than a dream—it was a message. A transference.
It began in a place of beauty, where lightness and connection replaced the weight of daily struggle. I walked beside a familiar soul—one who has long lived quietly in my heart. Together, we visited serene places: a pumpkin patch, quiet corners of shared meaning. Though no words of love were spoken, our every interaction revealed a truth that needed no name. We were falling in love through presence, through resonance.
At one point, I stumbled upon a post—anonymous in appearance, yet unmistakable in essence. I knew immediately who had written it. It mirrored the pulse I felt inside, and in that wordless recognition, we understood each other. It was beautiful. Freeing. Sacred.
But at every step, another presence moved in the periphery. One who has been with me in this life—deeply, intimately known. A watcher. A witness. All-seeing. Their presence brought not peace, but weight. Guilt. Shame. As I basked in the warmth of new light, I found myself hiding, shrinking, trying not to be seen. I feared the truth of my joy would be perceived as betrayal.
But the soul of devotion does not belong to one person. It is not a betrayal to feel. It is a betrayal to forget.
In the final act, I returned to a place of my past—a basement show with a long-disbanded group. Both presences—the embodiment of freedom and the embodiment of commitment—were in the room. I was supposed to play, but I was unprepared. My instrument sat incomplete, my tools missing, the song beginning without me. A track far beyond our skill echoed through the room, and I could not match its demand.
The hum was absent this night, and I understand why. I had chosen ego. I had eaten late. I had smoked. I had recoiled. And yet, this vision found me. A reminder. A mercy.
This dream was a message. A transference.
And I awoke with the knowing that love, true love, is not a possession but a passageway—one that opens when we are brave enough to see.
END TRANSMISSION