byEach night I smell the moist, peaty earth of the bog. The smell suffocates me in my dreams, fills my nostrils, pushes aside my air until I wake up gasping. In those moments, I’m not sure whether I’m actually dying. It often feels that way. In those moments, my body forgets to inhale and my hand reaches into the darkness, grasping for life.
Thankfully I sleep alone…for now. Over the years, I’ve chased away my few lovers with my dreams. Or rather, my nightmares. More accurately, my nocturnal memories. No matter how each relationship began during my wakeful life, each eventually perished in the night. Man for man sooner or later became spooked by the half awakened woman lying next to him, thrashing and wailing in the darkness. The drama was more than they bargained for no matter how good t
