Sometimes, when I can’t find that comfort of sleep, I dream wide awake of you. There are so many little things to build a dream with, but mostly it all comes back to that day where we walked down to the river in the late afternoon. We kicked off our shoes and walked around in wet grass, letting the soles of our feet turn green and the cracks between our toes fill up with dirt. We laid down, the prickling of grass on the napes of our necks, and we watched as the blue sky turned into this tableau by which we painted our stories. Hands up against clouds and blue, you drew up your life between airplanes and the sliver of moon far on the horizons. I laughed and kissed that spot below your ear, and you let go of all those deep things held deep in your chest. In the calm of that afternoon, I closed my eyes and your hand up kneaded away into the small of my back. Later on, we found our way back to your apartment and peeled off our clothes, our feet left footprints on your sheets and I woke up the next morning with a blade of grass still stuck to the back of my neck.
Sometimes, when I wake up after spending hours dozing, I still feel you whispering your secrets against my earlobe. I reach for a blade of grass stuck to my damp skin and find myself rubbing away at nothing but a small memory of you.
