Saturday, August 30, 2008


I dreamed about Grey. It was vivid and so very real. When the strength of my emotions tugged me back into consciousness, I wasn't sure that I had been dreaming. We were lying in bed, intertwined closely together. His face next to mine, our heads on the same pillow, our breaths mingled. I turned my head ever so slightly and our lips touched. Folded together gently, softly like flakes of pastry. The tips of our noses rubbed together. He held me a fraction tighter. I can feel his skin against mine. His shoulders and arms. His smell. The weight of his legs on mine. Even in my dreams, he takes my breath away. I struggle to inhale. He kisses me and I feel as though I'm levitating off the bed. I feel drugged. And I awake close to tears.

I know what Asshat is going to say. It's all the pot-smoking. He's probably right. But, even fully conscious and several minutes later, as I sit here letting the words leave my heart through my fingers, I can't seem to release the steel band around my chest.

In my attempt to move on, I find myself with a decent man. He sent me an email today that warmed my heart and made it melt. He promised that, when he finally decides to kiss me, my knees will buckle. But he won't make the decision lightly. I struggle to treat him well. He is kind and considerate and a rare breed of gentleman. The baggage I carry around makes me harsh and ungenerous. And then I feel regret and remorse for not being nicer. He makes me want to be a better woman. I'm terrified. And the tears come.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

It's probably not too much pot, just a run-of-the-mill sex dream. If I had a nickle for every one of those I've had, I'd be able to buy my own porn shop.

Maybe you could subtly suggest to Mr. Wiggles that he should put his foot down on the accelerator because although he's charming, you're getting a bit bored.

Then again I guess you don't want a man who needs to be told how to drive.