The darkest night of the year

"I'm back where I started," I spoke to the night, to the layers of glass on the sidewalk.
"No," she replied, "not back but forward." Forward into restless sleep.

I dreamed of ballet dancers and friend, deceased. When I was a dancer, I never missed a catch. When I held my friend, he never let go. We embraced forever, I felt the heat of his skin. He held like we were saying goodbye.

It's funny how everything's new in a dream- the grief of loss, the joy of dancing, the idea that even on the darkest night, there's a way out of the nightmare.