The dreams in the movies are all wrong.
In them, you’re reaching out to her, and she is reaching out to you. The wind is blowing her dress this way and that, hair flowing around her face like mist. Just when the fingertips are about to touch, each zooms away, and one of you screams.
Real dreams aren’t like that.
In a real dream, you’re reaching out to her, and she is reaching out to you. The wind is blowing her dress this way and that, hair flowing around her face like mist. You grab her hand and you pull her close. She is next to you, pressed into you, a second skin of softness. You arms go around her waist and her arms reach around you to hold your shoulders.
She kisses you softly. And that is when you know the dream is a real dream, because she will never kiss you again. She is gone, and the loss once again is almost unbearable. You want to push the dream girl away, but you can’t. You even smell her, the scent of her, and that is even more terrible than the kiss.
At least the pain is real.
At least it is real.
It is real.
You awake, and it is real.
It was always real, you had just forgotten.
That’s a real dream. A kiss you so desperately wanted, and now is making you bleed. Each tear might as well be a pint of blood.
Each breath is a knife wound.
You close your eyes but the scent remains.
If only you could fly away before that dream kiss.
Just like in the movies.