My chest, flat and smooth, not a blemish in sight, scars of an incision underneath both breast.

My children and my wife were calling on me but I stopped to stare in the mirror.

My reflection, happy, calm, a permanent smile must be on my face, if the lines were evident. Something I don’t do.

I couldn’t feel the fog of dysphoria clouding my mind, only a sense of serenity.

My fingers twitch with excitement as I traced the scar. My battle scar; a battle I finally won. It was a moment I contemplated and wished for.

The skin tingled, sensitive to the feather like touch. Tears prickle my eyes. I felt it all.

Joy, insurmountable joy.

The funny thing is, I knew it was a dream. But… I also knew I would be there one day.

I feel it on the tips on my fingers that one day I’ll be there. And I’m okay with knowing.

Being a writer I learned you have to dream and plan, before you can make reality.

When I woke, I was running my finger  where my scars would one day be. And I smiled, turned to my fiancée and spooned.

Sometimes dreams are premonitions just waiting to happen.

And I know this is something I will have déjà vu of in the future.

————

photo credit:topsurgery.net

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