People who once loomed large in my life, but have passed out of it, have a habit of visiting while I sleep. Relationships that were at one point important in defining who I am, or at least who I was, but are now just memories crop up again and again in dreams.
They're less the people themselves, but these dreamtime archetypes. The dreams don't generally replay old events. They're not the kind of dreams made up of bits and pieces of the day, the brain taking all of the week's leftovers and making them into some kind of hash. Occasionally, there are dreams when I try to fix what was broken, and the repairs are generally poor and fall apart well before I wake up. Those are easy enough to understand.
But more often, the dreams are not even really about the specific people. Just whatever it is they've come to represent in my psyche. Which, in a way, is sad. These people who meant so much are now just heiroglyphics in my mind. Mental and emotional cuneiform. If I took the time to decipher them, I might be able to reduce them down to a definition. A word. A feeling. I try not to wonder for too long about their real-time counterparts, or if some heiroglyphic version of me enters their dreams, and what that me stands for, and if I would be sorry about that symbolism.
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