In Dreams

To The Lady on the Train,

As is the way of dreams, time and places and people can shift on you, placing you into a new scene from moment to moment. Dreams can be remembrances of the past, hopes or fears for the future, or pure impossible fantasy. In my dreams last night, they shifted like beech sand under my feet and the only constant North Star was that you were there. 

There was a dream that was part past, but not an exact memory. We lay together in the afterglow which could have been memory, but I traced pattens of ink on your freckled shoulder – the expression of your heart etched in ink upon your soft skin. I trailed my fingers along your spine, cupped your breast to feel a hardening nipple in my palm.  I kissed the back of your neck where a grey tangle of your hair could brush my cheek.  

In another dream, we sat in a car stuck in traffic. I was driving and you beside me, turned in your seat toward me. We did not touch, but our arms were close enough to feel the heat and electricity pass between us. I turned toward you to look upon your face and immediately fell into the smile of your eyes, dark, mischievous, and devastating. The traffic moved and you placed your hand into mine. It was not a car that we have been in together, but somehow in the dream it belonged to one of us. I don’t know where exactly we were going but the drive was a happy one.

I would dream these dreams every night if I could. I would commit them to waking memory in a way that somehow seems to elude me more that I wish. I would have you see them exactly as I do, complete with all my innermost thoughts and feelings. I would share with you the lasting impressions you make upon me.  I would show you how in my waking hours, I wrestle with the longing and wanting to return to those dreams.

The Man in the Station