I love him, maybe.

Yesterday I dreamed about him again. We were kissing on a yellow leather chair in a living room with yellow walls, and dimly lit yellow lights. The TV was on. It was playing a soft tune, or a light news channel. I felt peaceful. I felt so open. So in love. We were both so beautiful. Our bodies were one. It felt like there was no boundary to me or him. We weren’t trespassing each other. I started kissing his face. He really liked that. He really liked that I did that. My mom was around. She was in the house but she pretended she didn’t see us. She kind of knew we had a thing but I didn’t disclose fully. But she wasn’t uncomfortable with it. She was coming to terms with the fact that I was with someone else. That I wasn’t her young little daughter anymore. Oh how wonderful that dream was. I didn’t want to wake up. I was complete. I needed nothing more. Now that I think of it though, there was a slight feeling of fear, as comes with every love. Fear that you’re not good enough for that person. Fear that you’re somehow going to screw it up. Oh he’s so perfect. And then I woke up and I cried. And then I told myself, “Come on, he’s not that perfect. He’s just a boy. You wouldn’t feel this way if you were with him”. Wouldn’t I? Really? Maybe we’d be perfect for each other. What if he has feelings for me too? But he’s with her now. She’s so perfect. They’re so perfect. They’re the epitome of love. They’re the physical representation love. And then I thought of having a threesome with them. What if they offered? I know she might be up for it. She’s bisexual and she’s told me she adores me. God, I just need somebody to love. Really bad.