postscript to last night’s letter, Les:
I’m not floundering. Just recollecting, I hope. Just sifting. I don’t wish to travel back in time or renew a relationship. Flowers have already bloomed, gone to seed.
Perhaps because I was writing about my relationship with P so close to going to bed, they were in my dream as their pre-T, pre-out as genderqueer self. Their bright and eager self on my front porch. At one point I sensed their present self or others approaching and felt protective—I didn’t want P to be seen as their past self if they didn’t want to be. Face rounder, younger, less touched by T.
But there was nothing to be ashamed of, Les. Present dream P would have had no reason to be ashamed of seeing or having others see their past self. I loved them and could have been an ambassador
but in this dream, I was ashamed to be dreaming it, I think
so I hid
everyone from each other.