This is not a real dream. This is something that came to me, and may go into my play. I've had a rough couple of days, and this piece (monologue?) came back to mind.
And in my dream, I was flying, but I didn't want to be flying. I just couldn't help it. I couldn't stop. I kept going higher and higher. I looked down and the treetops were getting smaller. All I could think of was how I would return. What would happen if I just ceased to fly? I could imagine the fall and my body being broken by the trees, falling into a thousand pieces on the ground, unrecognizable as me. All of my pieces and all of the parts of me I keep hidden, visible to anyone who might walk through the trees and find me. Or the pieces of me. So, I closed my eyes and just tried to feel the wind against my face, but I could still see the treetops through my closed eyelids. Still getting smaller. And I let go.
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