starving. People live in fear all the time. But when I paint I focus on everything, and I see that there is also so much love in the world, like newborn babies, a teenager helping an elderly cross the road, a beautiful song or painting, the cloud formation, the mountains, a shimmering lake, people falling in love, a good teacher or a devoted dog.” I looked over and saw him looking at me with kind eyes and a gentle smile.
“Well put…beautifully put actually. You follow your heart. That’s rare. Don’t ever lose that.”
“I’ll try not to,” I answered seriously. “Do you have a passion?”
I felt myself wanting to know everything about him, like wanting to open all the Christmas presents as a child.
“Well,” he said gazing at the stars. “I love traveling, seeing new places and meeting interesting people. I learn so much from that, I feel like I want to really live, to choose love for living, over fear of living.” He took a breath. “It’s so strange, I remember snippets of things that have happened, like pictures coming to me sometimes, and it’s only when I’m with you. I try to remember more but when I try, it’s like I scare the memories away. Then I feel so peaceful here with you. Sometimes I’m not sure I want to remember. Maybe that’s why I’m not remembering.”
I looked up, not wanting to tell him he was just a man I’d dreamt up, that he wasn’t even real, a perfect, wonderful made up man. He had said he was real in the other dream, and maybe he really thought he was. I leaned over to his side and put my hand on the side of his face gently.
“I’m happy you’re here.” It was all I could say, and it was so true.
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