I dreamt of you last week.
But it wasn’t a dream when I saw your eyes burning fire and sunbeams peeking from behind your lips.
I dreamt of you a few days ago.
But it wasn’t a dream as you clasped my face in your hands and told me you loved me. It wasn’t a dream when we cried, when we embraced in cerulean, swirling ecstasy.
I dreamt of you yesterday.
But it wasn’t a dream as I saw sadness behind the crashing waves of your irises. As I saw you deep in thought. As I felt your hands against skin that’s never been touched by anyone but you. Because you’re the only one who has ever truly touched me.
I’ll dream of you every night.
Because it’s not a dream, not a fantasy, not an imagined situation on repeat for eternity. It’s real.
This is real and as I taste your lips, I realize I’ve been blinded to any other flavor. Your heat radiates through me, triggering synapses and driving me mad.
Maybe it’s too fast but times before, it’s been too slow. Maybe it’s too much, but that I’d rather than it being too little.
Maybe it’s frightening, seeing your life play out in the eyes of the one who loves you most. Maybe it’s not quite the right situation.
But you found me, like in the lives being lived by us before, in congruent sentences scrawled upon pages golden and crumbling.
You see me, you read my novel and begged for sequels. Waiting patiently in the library of our life together for the next installment.
I’ll always dream of you because in so many ways you are me. And I am you. And we belong to one another’s souls.
And maybe that’s frightening, like wearing a monster mask in the darkest alleys of the city where we met.
And maybe the timing is off, maybe our raw emotion is speeding us towards imminent collision. A hadron collider spinning uncontrollably, combining our energies.
But I’ll always dream of you, just like I know you’ll always dream of me.