I am staring up at the slats of the blinds and moving one or two around with my outstretched hand. Where am I though? I can remember this as being a good place. I am comfortable here.
There are wispy curtains, purple I think. My eyes are half closed but the fabric is covering just the ends of the windows. They are running against my arm every time I swing the slats back down, allowing just a little bit of light in behind them.
The room is still dark but it is becoming clearer. The walls are soft with an almost skin color to them and I can hear the room breath. It breaths softly, nearly whispering to me, “I love you.”
“I thought you were asleep?” I am answering someone but I cannot remember whom yet.
Her arm is across me, as though it has been there since the start, before the room even. It’s halfway wrapped in the sheet that is holding me.
“I was, but now I’m here.” She kisses the soft spot between my jaw and ear.
I know where I’m at now; the rug is here somewhere too. The candles and the camera, the little round table too. This is not right. I’m not still here anymore.
How do you dream about sleeping?
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