From today’s writing:
It was the dream again:
I walked down narrow stone steps that slowly descended into darkness. The damp increased as I walked, moisture condensing on stone and skin alike. I breathed in warm wet air, letting it coat my tongue, I tasted brine and it made something stir deep in my belly. The further I walked the more clearly I heard the sounds of water lapping, and voices whispering unintelligible phrases, and something that I knew in my bones was the sound of a large, wet shape moving alongside me . . .
And just as I glimpsed the water’s surface and my own shadowed form, I awoke to find tears drying on my cheeks, and my body filled with a diffuse longing.
Georges would say: of course you would dream of water, you were born by the sea. He would say this, and pat me on the head, and tuck me back in as if I were still a child, though I could barely remember being such.
I have always been this person, this Ada.
And what I knew, what I dared not say to him but I knew in my heart, was that my dreams were not of long forgotten memories: they were of things to come.