Dream Erosion

By Tim Boiteau

He dreamed of erosion—everything smoothed out beneath roaring, gritty winds. The dreams plagued him during the daytime. Pictured his office and coworkers obscured in a dun-colored haze, sanded down in sped-up motion. Walls and clothing unraveling. Desks, computers frail and crumpling.

His therapist arranged to meet for a session in the dunes: two chairs, a coffee table, and potted plant stuck in the shifting sand. Framed degrees suspended in the air.

“Is there a name for what’s wrong with me?” He asked.

Hair and beard and nose dissolving, the therapist answered, his words lost in the roar.

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“Writing is cheaper than therapy.” – the writer

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