Supposedly you dream every time you fall asleep. That’s a shame, since I never seem to remember my dreams when I wake up. Last night, though, I dreamed something that was worth remembering. I didn’t dream of giants and towering beanstalks, nor of witches and scores of little people who break out into spontaneous fits of seemingly choreographed musical numbers. No. I dreamed of something far more mundane; and yet it filled me with a greater sense of wonder than could any other fantasy. I dreamed that she was mine. I don’t remember much, but I do remember the moments that counted the most. I’d reach out my hand, she’d offer me hers, our palms would caress, and our fingers would intertwine. We would kiss, and there’d be no interruptions, no pulling away. Throughout the night, I was overwhelmed with a profound sense of joy. When I awoke in the morning, I blinked away the happy delusions that came with sleep and my heart grew heavy.
I told her recently that I was over her, and she seemed to believe me. Hell, at the time, even I believed it. Maybe I’m still living in my dream world, but I’ve been getting the feeling these days that she still cares. I could be wrong. But is it so wrong to dream? Ugh, even I’m not buying that one.
That was bomb dude. You’ll find the longer you like a girl, the more you can never get over her. It really sucks.