Apr. 22nd, 2019 11:41 am
Last night I dreamed I was on a trip to a version of South Korea that had an exceptionally strange train system, and also my father was still alive. Grinning, bearded, funny. I dreamt of my mother for over a decade after her death, so it makes sense I'm still dreaming of my father nearly nine years after his, but there is a strange comfort in it, dreaming of the dead. I know dreams are not really a liminal place where we can reach those in the underworld. And yet, it still gives me that same wistful feeling, the comfort of being held again by someone I can only visit in sleep.