I dreamed of my father. He was with me just now, as I remember him when I was a tweenager, back when I had a pageboy haircut and wore caramel-coloured velour shirts.
He was standing on the grass in the courtyard, much like this one only the buildings were taller and there were more trees. I knew almost everyone here.
He was standing still as I told him why I was sad. He listened to me and it felt kind.
When I awoke, my heart was pounding hard and I suddenly knew the reason for my sadness. (I brought it on myself.) He didn’t have to say a word.
(then, of course, my brother calls me just now to ask me a question about him.)