Will You Be There In The Morning?

There is this girl named H.

I knew here in middle school so I literally haven't thought about her for close to fifteen years. If I saw her walking down the street I would have no idea that it was her. And that is fine. Because that isn't the point.

I'm sure you can guess that I was quite smitten with her back then.

There was this dream.

That kind of dream that only a middle school boy can have. Before you have discovered the "ole in out." When the most meaningful touch is a kiss. This wonderful, Hollywood, magic of a kiss. The simple touching of lips, and electricity.

I never kissed H. in real life. But in a dream.

One night I did.

It was that dream that you wake up from and it has happened. We had kissed, and I could still feel her lips pressed softly against mine. And when I saw her that day at school I half expected to see a knowing smile on her face. I half anticipated her having been there too. Some connection, some brilliant moment of beauty shared between us in sleep.

She didn't. And I don't think I ever really talked to her past school stuff. I was kind of a pussy about that stuff back then. But who wasn't.

Today I'm thinking about that dream again. Because that moment still happens.

Sunk into sleep she waits for me. No name, no face that I can conjure in wakeful moments. No real person that I know of. Just there.

The dream last night was just falling asleep in her arms. No sex. Just touch.

She is dark. Dark skin, and hair. All soft curves and skin. The smell of smoke and the soft taste of rum. A light kiss and loving arms. And nothing more. Because sometimes there doesn't have to be more. Just warm, and soft, and kind. And when I wake up she isn't there, even if for that brief moment I'm thinking that she might just be there.

I think it is time for me to go to bed.

File under Vice.