In dreams you’re mine, all of the time…

Dreamt of you the other night. A rather dark, and atramentous vision, I must say…but only in the imagery. The feelings throughout the dream had a very neutral tone, or at least one unusually devoid of the panic one might assume based on the evidence. Still, behind the calm there lingered the perpetual vibration that comes with all of our encounters; like a constant, low-level state of orgasm that tickles the insides, and seeps out through the fingertips.

As the dream began I was entering your house to find you, and rouse you. There were windows, but it was incredibly dark. The curtains were all drawn tightly down. I meandered down a hallway with framed pictures, none of which I could see, until I came to a small spiral staircase that let me up a level, to the middle floor. The stair continued on, but I knew that your room was in the center of the house, and I proceeded towards it. Entering casually, with no effort towards masking my entry, or proclaiming it, I found your room to be an utterly messy disaster. It may have been the first time I had been in it, in the dream, but that contradicted the sort of comfortable taken-for-granted presence that I felt while I was in there. The wall to wall clutter, which was left strictly to my peripherals, was the second thing I noticed. The first was the fact that it was astonishingly dark inside your bedroom. As the room was located at the center of your house, there were no windows with which to illuminate it, and as the house in it’s entirety was somewhat dark as it is, the inside of your bedroom was almost obscenely black. I made no effort to find a light switch, and simply navigated on the subtle chalky glow that leaked in from the open door, making my way over to you on the bed.

All I could distinguish of you was your hair, which had also become as black as midnight, as it lay ruffled on your pillow; piles and piles of blankets stacked upon your body to the point of completely masking any form of silhouette or image beneath them. My first thought was that you were dead, and had been dead for a long time…like I was just stumbling upon a sort of nightmare scenario in some other-worldly stillness, but as I slipped my hand under the blankets towards where I presumed your body to be, I felt warmth, and at once you awoke and slid immediately out of bed and onto your feet, where you proceeded to walk towards your bedroom door, muttering something about having to go. Seeing you was my second surprise, for although you weren’t dead as I initially thought, you were very very sick. Your skin was a ghastly white, and your hair was all wrong…like it was a wig, or some other form of half-effort to paint over your crumbling interior. I found you no less beautiful, however, and you brushed past me as you headed for the door; not contemptuously, nor affectionately, but simply carelessly, and comfortably, as if you expected my presence, and knew I wouldn’t take offense if you simply walking away. Your motions were slow, and difficult, as though you were straining with every step…but you had some sort of perpetually torturous obligations to see to, and couldn’t be allowed any time for yourself to rest, or heal. I remained in the room and listened to you sulk down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door…with the knowledge, somehow, that you’d be returning shortly and we could engage one another. In the meantime I absently looked around your room, and randomly opened the middle drawer on a bureau that I found, hoping to have a look at some of your clothes, as in the back of my mind I knew that the dream was about to come to a close, and I wanted to experience as much of you as possible before then. Instead of clothing in your drawer, I found a series of rags and useless pieces of fabric, but underneath all of that was a small box. I removed the box and opened it, finding inside a very small device that attached to the finger and vibrated. I didn’t understand it’s exact function, but before I could dwell on it any longer, I awoke.