Too Many Bees

One night about six months ago, I had a dream that we were on a trip together, in a wooded area in Latvia. We were in a tourist group led by my Colombian friend Santiago, and we were climbing over rocks and leaves and broken branches. We stumbled upon a part in the trail where there was a massive swarm of bees that we had no choice but to walk through. I could physically feel hundreds of bees bouncing off my skin, arms, face, and I looked to you knowing that these tiny stinging bugs were your biggest fear. I saw terror in your eyes, and for a moment you reminded me of my father. You looked like a small boy, in the frame of a 31 (now 32) year-old-man. I opened up a big black umbrella and I promised you that if you took cover with me, I would protect you from them. I'd get you through the bees. We tried to use the umbrella as a shield, and I used my body to cover yours as best as I could, but it didn't work. I couldn't protect, shield, save you. I woke up knowing that this would always be true for us, and you knew it too. You knew it first. The swarm was too big.