I had a bad night after he told us all about it. It wasn’t exactly a dream that ruined my sleep, but more like what PTSD must be.
I hate when other people tell me their stupid dreams, but I’m going to tell you mine anyhow. I was standing next to a bed. I was also in the bed, hurt, having just crashed in the plane. The other me, the standing one, had pulled me out, saving my life. Then we split back into two people again, two separate people, but I knew him, I knew him as well as I know my own lover, well, soon to be lover.
But in that moment, with the smell of fuel and burning, and the present only the war, all I knew was Gunnar; he was all I had that was real, at least, real in the deepest sense of my identity. There was only one thing on my mind—Gunnar, my love, my everything. “Help me
