He dreamt in shades of gray. Like a grainy black and white film, the pictures moved silently. He knew what they were saying, like a script. A happy story.
But every dream has to end and this one did too. Dreams are cruel, he thought as he sat up in his bed, alone for the first time in two years.
Jet remembered the dream so well. It felt more like real life that reality did. Picturesque and sweet. He dreamt of himself sleeping softly in the gentle light of the morning sun. His lover at his side, beckoning Jet to rise with the sun. He warned Jet that he would be late, nudging him ever so slightly. His touch was like a warm fire against Jet's cold skin, a fire that would melt his soul ever so sweetly, like ice cream left in the sunlight too long. And like ice cream, Jet would melt at his touch. His lover straddled onto of him playfully and told him to get up, but not before kissing him. Ask Jet what the perfect morning tastes like and he would say his love's honey lips.
And that's when he awoke from his dream. Nightmare more like it. Looking to his side, where his love should be sleeping was now empty save for the blankets that wandered over there. Jet sighed and slipped some pillows underneath the blankets. It wasn't much of a body, but it would comfort him for the rest of the night. Jet cried as he held onto the pillows, craving for love, craving that he had someone to tell him “I love you,” desperately clawing at one another in the dark embrace of the blankets just to feel, feel each other, feel not alone.
But he was alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment