Last night, I awoke awash in something that may not have been your true feelings. I felt at sea, mareada.

I had fallen asleep reading sentences I no longer remember. Your hands I do remember. I remember not knowing what time it was. I remember afterwards I strained to look at the glowing hands of your watch to make sure it was not yet morning. This was the first time in many months. I remember the other time, when we were in Freeport, and I could hear the faint crashing of the sea. I remember the last time, when I felt the faint crashing of you through my bedroom door.

I fell asleep and there were dreams. Colorful ones, of dance parties and people other than you. Some were just acquaintances, some were strangers. But none were you. I think this is a commentary on something, but I don’t yet know what.

This morning, what was real? You, or the dream, or neither?

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