Pondering Season's Change

It is so hard to tell when you might be returning to the memory of my dream on any given night, but what is less hard to tell is when the season ends. It is not easily spotted at first, dream after dream with nights apart sprinkled in between; how easy it becomes to treat this as the norm, as a process that will not end or flag. But then it flags, and then all at once you realize it has already ended. In that season there was a last night together, and I didn't even get to say a proper goodbye. I wouldn't even know until days later that you were gone, until even the echoes of you heard in various ways afterward had faded as well. The beginnings are so hard to anticipate for me, at least while maintaining any semblance of balance; but the uncertainty and suddenness of the endings feel so much harder. 

I can't help but wonder if I might request our paths might cross tonight, and how I might even go about making such a request heard. Perhaps a dream can be plucked out of season? Perhaps such a plucking is what marks the beginning of the new season? Perhaps I should sleep on the answer.