I have been dreaming myself into
mansions lately, fireplaces crackling and chocolate; into
icy parking lots, twirling around in the arms of a
stranger; I have been waking up smiling at
vague memories of warmth.
Two nights in a row, the same glow when I wake and stretch, same purr, same me in the same empty bed grinning like a fool
It's not like I can point to anyone I know and say Him, he is the person invading my dreams, he is the one. I am one of the people who believe that dreams are largely influenced by random thoughts on the previous day. Have I been thinking of people before I go to sleep, people I know? Yes, and they are in these dreams too. I am not just dreaming of a dark handsome stranger.
I am talking and breathing and laughing in the parking lot with all of them, we are walking and blowing puffy steam and my fingers glance off them randomly, I am free with myself and they are giving too. But there is one faceless individual that I know, somehow he is so familiar, I must know him, only I don't. He is the one who has his arms around me last.
And then another night we are sitting in some ancient drafty house, high ceilinged and straight out of the musty books I adore, fireplaces and tall candlesticks and little chocolates melting where we have abandoned our game of Scrabble, I am always a sucker for word games and the lot of us, again, a group, again, all people I know and am comfortable with. And there is still one extra person on the edge of the circle, just watching me. I smiled at him in the dream.
I haven't dreamed of flying in over two weeks now, instead I have been dreaming myself into happy sorts of fiction. This is good.