Kissing’s just about the nicest thing you can dream about. There’s the wake-up guilt of course, that ‘Oh God, am I going to tell him I just kissed someone else?’ feeling that hits you in the morning when you’ve blearily staggered out of your dream. Not that it always is someone else. Sometimes it’s him. But it could be anyone: sometimes it’s someone famous; maybe it’s a colleague or an old flame... and sometimes it isn’t anyone real at all: it’s someone your subconscious has invented especially for the purpose. Always, it’s bliss. The anticipation, the kiss, everything: it’s a film kind of kiss, the kind that can never happen in real life. It’s ultra-heightened and ultra-gorgeous and waking up is never welcome.
Sometimes I wake up to the realisation that I’ve just kissed someone I would never dream (if you’ll excuse the expression) of kissing in real life. I’ll feel mortified, embarrassed, ashamed. I once dreamt I‘d kissed a colleague (not in my current job, just so we’re clear) and it was a while before I stopped feeling awkward around him at work.
This makes it sound like it happens to me all the time. It doesn’t. Maybe once every six months or so I’ll get a dream like this. And I love them. Sometimes I tell Dave and sometimes I don’t, but I’ve come to accept that it’s an ordinary part of dream life that has little (if any) bearing on your actual desires. You can’t feel guilty about dreams like this (although sometimes I do). You can’t look forward to them either because you never know when they’re going to happen, but you can bask in their glow the day after. And I do. Oh, I do.
Image by Moni Sertel