Dream #1

I dreamt of her last night. That was bad enough, the scab being ripped off again, premature, the healing process fired for the hundredth time. This department has been error free for twenty five days, and now that number will have to be erased. But, the worst part was the fact that I wanted to dream of her. Each night I close my eyes and request a favor from my subconscious. He abides, sometimes.

She was walking ahead of me, away from me, wearing nothing but a t-shirt, the color a lifeless yellow, a dying sunflower. The shirt was shorter than normal, ceasing before the small of her back. I followed at a similar pace and watched her healthy legs push off the concrete path. In hindsight, I am surprised that my mind constructed her body so accurately. Calves and thighs and waist were sculpted correctly and moved naturally, I decided after I awoke.

Her hair avoids my recollection. It must have been short, for I remember seeing the whole of the half-shirt on her torso. A vague mass of dark hair was her head. Staying focused on the emptiness before us, it never strayed from side to side. Uninterested with the scenery or lack thereof.

We rode along a man-made walkway. On either side of us was nothingness, not a dark nothingness, but not so bright. Pale milk colored was it. Our surroundings did not matter it seemed. Maybe my subconscious spent all of it's budget on recreating her. I certainly would have approved that decision. And I did, unaware.

Not a long dream. I never saw her face. She never glanced behind her. Did she know that I was in pursuit? Did she know and not care? I admit I was feeling more lustful than I should have. Her almost naked body sparked my primal needs. Still, I did not attempt to catch her. I kept pace and watched. Waiting on some event to stir us from our current routine.