At the beginning it was almost non stop. I dreamt of touching your hand, burning with cheeks I wished weren’t my own. Saboteurs of my collected demeanour. I dreamt about you in the shower. I had dreams about the way you signed goodnight. One x or two.
Then there were the bad dreams. The cold sweats, the worries, the dreams that it wasn’t real.
Eventually they gave way to wishful dreams. Wishing you would stay more, dreaming of a time you could give more of yours to me. Dreams of christmas as a family.
And when those dreams had become reality, only the biggest wishes unfulfilled, they gave way to dreams in which you were, simply, with me.
Dreams in which i fought dragons, the patriarchy, giant cats. You’d be there and it was the norm.
Yes, I dream of you.