Last night I dreamt of you.
I often do, but I remember last night because it seemed so real. As if the fragrance of your strawberry lip gloss was tangible, sweet like cotton candy I could unravel in my hands, strands of sugar and colour and smell wrapped around my fingers.
As if your eyes could look into mine, not flinch and stare into the sunset like they often do in my dreams. As if you were there, your warmth was radiating onto my skin, your presence made my standing beside you a moment of glorious remembrance.
It’s been years since we broke up.
Some days the memories become distorted, like light shining through broken glass, scattering and scampering through an empty house which has sheltered nothing but heartbreak. Some days I don’t remember the dates well.
The day we first met, how I walked across the cafe twice, just looking, trying to believe you were really there, for me. And when I did walk in, my hands were cold and your smile was warm and we had ice cream and the cafe was playing a Rihanna song and we listened to it in silence.
The day I came over to your house because I couldn’t stand being away from you anymore, and you had scraped your knees from a bad fall and when we kissed my fingers touched your wound and you winced and I stopped and apologized.
And you forgave me. For all the fuck ups, all the times I sulked and whined, all the times I forgot about important things. You forgave me, till you could forgive no more.
So you walked away.
And I waited, because I never knew what walking away meant. I always thought when two people were in love, they eventually came together, things eventually worked out.
Only sometimes, it didn’t.
Sometimes what’s broken remains that way, and when people walk away it is for the last time you see them turn and wave goodbye. Love doesn’t mean staying unhappy, I learnt that too late.
So I dream, some nights, of you.
That’s what we do with the things we can’t fix. We dream they were never broken in the first place.
In my dreams you’re wearing your hair in a knot and I’m running my thumb across your chin, you’re smiling still, that warm smile which my cold hands could never bring themselves to touch, and I’m still nervous like the first time, because you’re funny when you want to be and sad when you can’t help it.
In my dreams we’re still together.
In my dreams we still love each other, the way we did all those years back, when we first met, and you smiled that warm, comforting smile.