The other night I dreamt I was sitting in a small boat on a vast and glass-still sea. It was night, and boat had a single beacon on it–a red pulsing light on the prow.
I came to see that the beacon was not a light, but a heart, then, slowly, realized that the heart was my own. I moved forward, anxious, to take it back.
As I did, the boat rocked, and the glowing object fell (plunk!) into the water, sending an infinity of silvery ripples across the blackness.
After a moment’s hesitation, my dream-self dove after, terrified of losing this
one essential thing. I swam down after the still-pulsing beacon, following the light into the welcoming black depths, but as I grew close, the beating heart turned into a gulping fish–red and bright–and, with a flick of its tail, swam away from me, deeper, until I lost sight.
I have no idea what, if anything, this means, but it was beautiful, and it was somehow, strangely, reassuring.