the dream is always the same. she appears and takes my hand into hers. it feels quite strange for her to grab my left hand in her left. i don’t think i’ve ever questioned why she never walks beside me.

     the dream is always the same. she leads through the lush green forest, down to the warm, bustling village, up to the flowing creek, and into quiet valleys where flowers bloom in every direction, further than I could see.

     the dream is always the same. fog spreads over the flowers as they quickly wither and turn to grey. we move faster, her hand still tight in mine. her face bunches together; her nose wrinkling. a realization strikes her. despite reliving this moment countless times, this realization is never revealed. i've never been able to know. 

     the dream is always the same. we gradually slow as her dress becomes blurs of incomprehensible off-whites folding over each other. her face starts to fade as she lets go of my hand and turns towards me. 

     the dream is always the same. 

     it always ends with her pushing me through a door that I swear wasn’t there in the beginning. it produces a blinding light, illuminating from behind me. 
I watch as her tears turn to crystal. she yells something quiet. and as I try to listen, it never works.

     by the time i open my eyes, i’m not even sure if she was ever there at all.

     i can’t remember in the morning;  is the dream always the same?