Dream of Fire
My husband dreamt the sheets were on fire, and I wouldn’t come in the bedroom. He called and called for me, but I would not come. When I finally walked in he asked, why didn’t you come? I said, because you weren’t yelling fire — the sheets are on fire! He was pissed off at me when he got up this morning; beyond the dream something piqued him, some unease set in. In that memory—although it was only a dream—of me not coming to help him was born our disentanglement; the dissolution was set in place, which by then was a watery tincture at best. The dream of fire was our liberation.
“You and I, when we sleep, we’re like whales
because fish swim out of my mouth
and you dishevel the seaweed.”
— Melcion Mateu / “Abyss”