I have several happy dreams. I dream Michelangelo and I head out across Europe in a VW camper van. It is amazing. The weather is nice, food interesting and delicious, and the company awesome. I sing to old songs on the radio, kitchenware rattles around in the back as we hit bumps. I fold and refold oversized thin maps. We enjoy each other’s company and take breaks at beautiful spots.
Next I dream we are in New York but I do not like it. I get anxiety as tall buildings loom over me. Michelangelo holds my face in his soft hands. ‘Look at me’ he instructs. I’m panicking, breathing deep and feeling light headed. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you. Take my hand, it is going to be ok’ I nod. I look into his eyes and trust him. Shielding me, he expertly navigates me into a tea room. Perfect, I think as we sit for afternoon tea and forget about the bustling streets outside.
And just like that we are standing on a grassy mountain top with cold air blowing across our faces. I know where we are, I’ve been here before. All is quiet but I am not alone, Michelangelo stands beside me still holding my hand firmly in his. I want to tell him that this is the place I dream of but if I did I would know that I am dreaming because I do know but it does not matter. I know, like I have always known that the mountain in my dream is real and one day I will be there. It no longer has to be a dream anymore, one day I will stand there with him.