It’s never anything as coherent as a dream, more like a series of disconnected sensations, though there was no doubt as to what it was he was recalling:

The bite of the breeze

The scent of the salt on the air

The chill of the rain drops

A vile crawl against his skin, slipping slowly away

The eyes of his beloved

The smile

The spark of the fuse

The rumble

The agony

That unfathomable agony

As that gaze would leave his view

For the last time, at least outside of this constant replaying

The rocking of the vessel wrests him back from another round of this painful routine.