(yes, ice has a smell to it & I miss it), hear the sound of my blades
cutting into a fresh sheet of ice, feel the cool, moist air rushing
against my cheeks as I sped across the surface once again light on my
blades. I felt strong, powerful and carefree. And then I would wake
up. And I would be cold from my blankets having falling in a puddle
on the floor, my cheeks cool & wet- but from tears, not the air in the
rink. I'm just not sure if they are tears of joy - from feeling the
freedom & life of skating in my sleep; or tears of sorrow, because
part of me know I'll wake up.
I use to have that dream at least twice a month....now, I sleep too
lightly from the painto dream; or too deeply from the medicines to
either remember or dream at all.
I miss skating skating the way you would miss an apendage that's been
cut off. At least before I'd have a reprieve with my "nighttime
skates". I keep hoping the dreams will come back. Afterall, what
would I be left with if I didn't even hope for a dream?
Sent from Sara Grimm Cocolin's iPhone
