Sweet Dreams Are Made of You

Morning came in a fuzzy dream. I thank the gods or goddesses that be. Eyes wide awake, I often remember (B); consciously reliving moments of the sublime we spent in the little cottage at Highview. If I wrote about them here, it would all sound so trivial; the time he patiently tried to teach me to make beer and the night under the stars when he swore he could hear spiders moving in wet grass. We were together for a minute.

Together again, we were packing a faded yellow bug for a road trip. I loved our road trips - off to places I'd never been. I was only interested in going because it would mean time alone with (B) who talked away the miles and made me laugh so hard my ribs hurt. (B's) 'egghead' humor would be funny to no one but me. An ironing board and a bicycle lay on the floor where a backseat should have been. We were headed for the beach. It looked like Florida...

When I woke up I felt as if I was still in a dream, the way it felt when we were together; like none of it was real. It was all too painfully perfect. But seeing him again, even if only in a dream kept me warm all day lke a familiar blanket with holes but just right and irreplaceable. Just like (B).