Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used
without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.
This Story could be from the point of view of any of the characters in regards to any relationship, I couldn’t really decide, it was just something I needed to express in reaction to an event in my own life and I needed it to be undefined in who it referred to otherwise it would just seem too real so I’m sorry none of the characters names, characteristics or even circumstances really actually feature. If I had to pinpoint I would define it as being Miss Parker-Sydney but that is only due to my own bias I didn’t write it with any in particular of the characters in mind so anything can be read into it.
Sincerely Felicity


In My Dreams
by Felicity





You don’t talk to me any more, only stare into agony unable to reach beyond. I look at you, I look away and feel intense guilt in the reaction. Your appearance is so altered but it makes little difference. I am not here with you, physically we are in the same room but mentally we are worlds apart. I see you as you used to be, I’m not sure what you see.

It is a cage of ignorance, how is one supposed to react, to see you wasting away in so much pain. I wish it would end but fear that is not a wish for your sake yet whose sake but mine are you hanging on for? What is there to hang on for if this is all that your life can be trapped in the waiting room before death?

I stand back, others step forward or show their emotion but I stand still, silent and cold emanating an indifferent impression. I can’t feel, I can’t cry because I can’t believe that I am really here in this room or that it could ever come to this point. For years you’ve drilled the inevitability into our hearts, I didn’t realise how many years had past but now I see them all etched in your face your figure so unlike yesterday or the day before. A skeleton that represents the shell, it seems to be all that is left. Your confusion has passed on, Clarity was bought with physical pain yet communication has been lost some where after the eye of the storm between both. Do you see me any more or here me when I say I love you?

Last night you passed away. A phone call, it is all I here and it might as well be a nightmare I’ve woken from and shaken off for all it means. You’re distant, as distant as when I was standing beside you. Maybe we were separated at the onset of the illness that stole you from me. I’ve felt this lack of connection and painful reserve all these months and now you’re just a photograph in an album, a memory.

A shadow has fallen across my disbelief threatening to force death’s truth upon my mind. I drift into another phase of life without you, memory a smear on a consciousness so anxious in its self denial and self preservation to forget. Every emotion seems a reflection of outward expectation and thus not real. I can’t cry, remember, miss or grieve for you I can only see you in my dreams.