2002.09.07 About A Dream

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I lifted one lead-heavy eyelid, and rumbled a gentle questioning grunt. "Hmmmm?"

With a gentle bonk, a forehead was pressed to mine, and a comically blinking and staring eye peered into my own. She swept the rogue curl from our faces with her free hand, and in her low mock-serious tone asked "Are you OK?"

"MM-hmmm."

"You were crying. Were you asleep?" She blinked her lovely brown eye with genuine concern, and I blinked myself. Indeed, there was moistness in the corner of my eye, and the echoes of half-forgotten misery jumbled in my memory.

"Hmmmm."

She gently touched the salty-wet bridge of my nose with her forefinger, and lovingly ran her calloused hand up my brow and over my head. "It was that dream again." She breathed a contemplative and sympathetic sigh. I said nothing; there was no need to.

She pressed her lips together, and I could feel her make the decision: to try not to probe too much about the dream. After depositing a light, soft kiss on my forehead, she rolled over - unintentionally sending a cascade of her curly hair over my face. I made futile and amused puffs of breath to keep the locks away, which she ignored as she squirmed closer to snuggle against me. She knew that I drew solace from it, which served to amplify her warmth into the spiritual spectrum.

I took a deep breath, and enjoyed the fragrance of her. Amusement, about regularly making fun of her fanatical attention to grooming, mingled ironically with my appreciation. The clutching in my heart eased, just by her being there. She reached back with her newly-freed arm, sought and found my own arm, and dragged it comfortingly around her. She knew exactly how to make me feel better.

She lifted my hand, and gave it a kiss. I knew it to be a pre-emptive apology, and I waited for the question. "Why does that dream bother you so much?"

"I think it likes me."

A quick but abbreviated elbow to the floating ribs was her initial retort. "No. Come on. Tell me."

I squeezed her, and revelled in her touch. I let out a long sigh as I composed my thoughts, and a twinge of fear sparked in me somewhere. She lay still, expectantly. I could feel her heartbeat, and my own. I could feel them gradually synchronize, just like our breathing, and our souls.

"It's just so... real-" I began.

Quite unexpectedly, I happened to notice that it was snowing outside. The sharp pang of fear throbbed.

All I could see was the curve of her ear protruding from her curly locks of hair, so I focussed instead on the feel and smell of her. The smooth, soft skin warm against mine, and the fragrance of some feminine hair care product - I desperately tried to make these the entirety of my world. With a terrible certainty, the knowledge of her wondrous beauty permeated me - permanently altering my soul again. I wanted to squeeze her tightly to me, and kiss her, and never loosen my grip. But I knew that would not work. With the blazing passion of a dying creature, I clumsily avowed to her how much I loved her. How much I have always loved her... How much I would always love her...

My vision blurred with tears, until I blinked with my fear. My peripheral vision told me of the fat lazy snow flakes floating past the window in the early morning gloom.



It's usually snowing in my dream. Even in the summer.

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