Dream terminal.

I was walking across campus today and stopped suddenly. For some reason out of no where, I remembered my dream last night. And my heart dropped into my stomach.

I have a cousin that's my age. And he's a marine, fighting in Afghanistan. Last night I dreamed that I was in a giant circular room at the end of a long hall, and it was the international terminal at an airport. It was completely full of people, greeting and saying goodbye to people they loved. I waited, frantically searching for his face, and suddenly he was there. And I ran to give him the biggest hug ever, throwing my arms around him and bursting into tears. And we sat hugging, both of us crying, but it was time for him to get on his next plane. And we had to say goodbye, because he couldn't stay. And then I woke up.

I know I'm probably being silly. But every time I see the news reporting more casualties, I hold my breath. Five marines in southern Afghanistan. One. Eight. And after this dream I'll be holding my breath again until someone hears from him. And I can't shake how much it disturbed me. Too much like an in between, too real of a goodbye. I know everybody can't come home. I know for every one of those numbers, someone somewhere is losing someone. And though I'm selfishly hoping it's not the someone I love, I just wish they could all come home.