A dream of dead bees

That was weird and unpleasant.

The dream was full of muddled stuff about clothes and travel, but what I can recall clearly is this;

An enemy was being talked about disparagingly; with remarkable self control (for me) I didn't join in. There was something like a community garden with a little entrance to it, and a display booth to the side that might often show off say, prize veg. In it was a crudely wrought poppet, very abstract and quite big. It was shaped a bit like Patrick Star though grey and cheerless. I pulled it out, looked at it, put it back.

Suddenly enemy cried out: she had a hive and it was full of dead bees, frame after frame pulled out, millions of tiny corpses. Everywhere around her hive the bees lay dead on walls and in flower beds. It was an ugly sight. She was distraught. I didn't come close but said a little to comfort her; it felt best to say very little in case it came across as sarcastic, patronising or schaudenfreude.

The One That Got Away

My brother had a boyfriend, J. They stayed on amicable terms after the breakup and I only really got to meet him after my brother got engaged to someone else.

I remember being introduced to J, and standing stock still thinking 'it's you. You are the one my brother should be marrying. He's making a terrible mistake. It's you.'

An older gentlemen, always presentable and lovely, always stylish without trying, always fun, always full of bonhomie. My brother's affection remained but because he is a nitwit - and yes, he was making a terrible mistake - on he went. The fact that he has now found someone who can bear him comes down to time, a little charisma and a lot of luck.

Today I learn that J just got married on the quiet what with coronavirus and such. Doubtless they will lead fine fabulous lives, full of travel and good food and great company, all the things at which J is so adept. Can't wait to see them again, give them huge hugs.

But quietly, I'll always look at him and my brother and think of what might have been.