Memory from a Dream

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Can one long for a fantasy?

Can one crave a ghost?

Can one grab on to an illusion?

Won’t that hurt the most?

I saw my mystery woman in my dreams yesterday… I seemed to know her; I seemed to know her quite well; yet I never saw her face… she didn’t have one. Yet the memory remains vivid, a memory from a dream… We were locked in an embrace, I couldn’t tell where my body ended and hers started, we were one big ball of flesh… I remember her ear; I remember nibbling on it, exploring that one outer crease… I remember how I relished it, it was a part of her which nobody else got to feel; as publicly exposed as it is (after all, it is merely an ear!), yet, it couldn’t have been more private, more intimate… I paid my homage to her jaw line as I continued my descent to her throat… that throat of marble… warm marble… hot marble. I knew I belonged there, at the crook of that neck; this is where I wanted to laugh, this is where I wanted to cry; this is where I wanted to live; this is where I want to die…

And then I remember cradling her, her body nestled in mine, her cheek against my heart… I held her close; I rocked her, paying no heed to time…

And then I woke up… I looked around me; my bed was empty… it had been a dream… I wrapped my own arms tightly around my shoulders; I hugged myself; I clenched my teeth; that was all I could do… I didn’t wipe that lone tear trickling down my face; no one could see it anyway. And then I summoned the bittersweet memory of my mystery woman…

Am I that lonely?

Am I that desperate?

Will these pangs strike yet so strongly?

Around me people, yet still as desolate?

- contributed by Emcee

Tags: dream, love, wanting