the dream

I had a dream about him.

This time, it was a full episode with a logical and clearly thought-out premise, along with background characters and appropriate costume design.

Too close to comfort. Too realistic for a dream.

It was somebody else’s wedding. Past the reception. Inside the banquet hall. I had a drink in my hand, my back against the chair, carefully placing the ornaments in my hair against the edge. I wore a black sleeveless dress with lines of merlot, an unreadable expression painted on my face as I scanned the room, the pit of my stomach churning and turning.

And then I caught his eyes.

Already burrowed into mine.

A delicate smile flashed. A small raised toast. Undeniable tension. Unspoken eye contact. I watched as he threw back the entire drink. And my stomach did a free fall as he walked to me.

“Miss me?”

The line came like a shot to the guts. I don’t remember answering. I recall jokes, confessions. Light touches. Shoulders brushing. Longing gaze. Misplaced tenderness. Wistful thinking. The tip of my nose tingled with a sharp sting in my sinuses, holding back the tears like an overworked dam built in the 1800s.

“Are you with someone tonight?”

The question hung in the air like the presence of Jesus Christ on the 24th of December. Heavy, centuries-old, enormously present, yet too stunned for an answer. I thought about running. I withheld my stare. I swallowed my words. I returned my hand. I turned away, almost dry, feeling the eyes of the crowd sticking to the nape of my neck.

He held my gaze for a while.

Then he kissed me the way he used to. Soft. Tender. Deliberate. Warm. The kind of kiss so gentle and intimate I could feel his hiccups against my mouth, and I wanted to cry.

Tenderness. Regret. Relief. Lost worlds. Finally courage. Too little. Too late. Too much. Not enough.

And I woke up with a tear dried under my chin.