I burst out laughing, in sheer, unfettered joy, and flung myself backward onto the cloud. It caught me in its fluffy embrace, caving perfectly to mold to my body while still supporting me. I spent hours like that, bouncing among the clouds like trampolines, swimming into them to be enveloped in their warmth, flying through them, feeling lighter than air and brighter than the sun that still had not set, keeping my world in perfect pink-washed happiness.

And then I woke up. Not suddenly, not jarringly, but peacefully and slowly. I eased out of sleep at first and then all at once I was completely awake, without any kind of lingering grogginess. I lay there for a moment, in my strange windowless hospital room, and felt more at peace than I ever have.

I think I’m going to like this dreamdiving thing.

LATER

I’m writing this from my own bedroom, having completed my time at the AM and come back home. It’s weird, being back. Even though I was only gone for a couple weeks, I feel like I was just getting started. Yeah, maybe group therapy wasn’t for me, but as weird as the sleep trials were at first, they were really starting to work. After last night with the airplane, I feel like something has cracked open and now there’s this whole new aspect of my life, my ability, that I get to explore. I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed tonight, but part of me is a little sad that I won’t be training anymore. I want to get good at this.

Though according to Ralphy, I do have more training in my future.

As I was finishing up my final pieces of paperwork with Mags, the cute receptionist, Ralphy passed by the front desk.

“Oh, hey,” I said awkwardly and they gave me what I assume was an attempted smile, but came out to be more of a grimace.

“Hi,” they croaked.

“Here for…” I trailed off, realizing that I had no idea what to guess—there was no group today—and thinking that maybe it was rude to inquire about why someone would be visiting a medical facility.

“You checking out?” they asked, skipping over my half question and gesturing broadly at Mags, who had her head in my file but who was very obviously listening to our conversation.

“Yep,” I said. They just nodded and stood there for a moment, chewing on their lip, their hands stuck in their pockets like they were wrestling with something

“Look, I’m really sorry for—” I started to blurt out, but they jumped in before I could finish my awkward, would-never-have-been-enough-to-make-up-for-it apology.

“You’ll be back here,” they said, avoiding my eyes.

“Oh, I’ve actually been assigned to an outside therapist—apparently Dr. Loving thinks it might be more helpful for me,” I explained.

“I don’t mean for group,” they clarified.