Dreaming’s like window shopping: I watch as I pass by, the clothes linger in my mind, but fade when I leave the mall. But when I dreamed that night, I couldn’t forget.
In the day, we don’t hold hands; but in the night, we do. Your hands are warm, warmer than the streetlamps and cardigans, softer than the blanket I hug in my sleep.
In my dream, I know your palms like the back of my hand. I map the lines where we meet, part, and meet again. I map the stars we can never see; I map the constant constellations- Cancer, Taurus, Aries, Pisces. Your fingers are smooth as steel.
Edges of darkness frame the dream. It shadows your face: it draws out the lines, sketches your hair and pulls you away.
I call out your name. But your presence fades gradually, grainlessly, gravellingly. Then I wake up – and you were no more.