I can’t reconcile the voice I heard with Damion.
How is that possible?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and take a few deep breaths.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
And dreams don’t mean anything.
Except for the fact that I’ve been dreaming consistently of my James for the past few weeks and it doesn’t seem like a dream then.
I get to my feet and go wash my face. Looking into the mirror, I let out a shaking breath, “It couldn’t be Damion. That’s not possible. It’s just my head creating strange narratives.”
But even I can’t keep ignoring my dreams.
There are times when they seem so real and I believe the conversations I am having in them and then there are times when I wonder if I desperately need therapy, assuming I can find a therapist in this secluded area.
I half snort
