I dreamed that deep in the forest preserve, a man shot my brother.
I dreamed you said you never loved me, and you clutched your phone. I wrenched it away from you. I didn’t want you to text another girl.
I dreamed I was running up stairs.
I dreamed I had an older brother, and we passed a monster every day on our way to school. We fed the monster peanut butter sandwiches, but one day, he wanted me.
I dreamed we ran in and out of a pink building, looking for a place to kiss in secret.
I dreamed I was in love with a short skinny boy I knew when I was fifteen.
I dreamed my high school crush kicked me into the sky like a balloon.
I dreamed the line, “When I woke up, I wasn’t anybody, not even Alice.”
I dreamed I was waiting tables in an infinite loop, and nothing was going wrong, and the perfect rhythm was terrifying.
I dreamed that you died. And you, and you, and you.
I dreamed I was swimming with a beautiful woman.
I dreamed I couldn’t get away from the witch.
I dreamed I lay back on a table in the dark.
In my dream, I was screaming and screaming.
I tried to stop him, but he pulled out the gun.
It went off, and—as in the rules of the waking world—you dropped like a dead man.