Ash

I used to have dreams wherein my teeth would break apart in my mouth. Crumble like chalk and settle into dusty piles that stuck on my cheeks and threatened to choke me. It would start in the back, near my molars, and work it's way toward the front—a domino effect reminiscent of special effects scenes of buildings turned to ash in the aftermath of a bomb or piles of soft soot left behind by July 4th snakes on the sidewalk.

I'm not sure what this means. But having half a tooth fall of has reminded me of them. They used to happen frequently—recurrent and frightening. And then they stopped somewhere along the way... forgotten and replaced by other strange evening flights.

Perhaps it is about communication... or a fear of being silenced. I am a communicator, probably more than anything else, and the thought of losing that strength and comfort is quite scary to me.

What you fear reveals what you value (and vice versa).