I am dreaming. I know this even as I dream. I am kissing a man. No idea who it is. When I try to see his face, everything goes out of focus as if I am underwater.
Doesn't matter. The kisses are too sweet to care about the lips pressing them.
I notice that my hair is this beautiful coppery red. It falls across my shoulders and I am stunned for a moment at the sheer shine and prettiness of it. Is that MINE? Or his? It's mine, I think. Well, wow. I always wanted that shade.
The kisses are deeper now and I am lost in the force of the intensity, the urgent insistence that I kiss back. I do.
I open my mouth just a little bit, just enough to breathe the kisses in. I think to myself that he really knows how to kiss. Jesus. Jaysus. Not too much tongue, just a small taste now and then, no slobbery rubber invasion. I am smitten by these kisses.
I hear myself groan out a name and try to hear it so that I can know who I am kissing but the name eludes me over and over again.
His hands are callused and I sort of like that although they feel rough on my rib cage. He has a five o'clock shadow. I can feel it rubbing against the side of my face. I smile. Been a looooonnnnnggg time since I experienced beard burn.
I pull back, determined to find his face, to register it in my mind.
I don't recognize him and tell him so. He laughs. It is a sweet, tender laugh from such a rough faced man.
"This is from your life before this one," he explains gently, and then goes back to kissing before I can really take this thought in.
I get lost again and am a little embarrassed by lack of interest in who I am kissing. Shouldn't I care a bit more?
No, I think...you are just dreaming...so it is okay.
I nod and lose myself again. He is truly skilled at the art of kissing and I hope that I don't wake up soon. Occasionally, we stop to share short sentences. I tell him that I think I am dreaming this because my sisters and I saw Joan Jett last night in concert and that song she sang was sooooo fucking sexy. He agrees. Tells me about how pretty the sunrise was last night in his city.
"I think we knew each other in a previous life," he says, slowly. "I think we are both dreaming about each other. Isn't this just...AMAZING?" I agree. We smile and wait for a beat. We wait until we can't stand not kissing each other again and then grinning in agreement, resume our perfect kiss.
I hear some sort of growling noise and it jars me enough to start pulling me out of my dream. I clutch on to his arms, trying to pull him out of the dream with me.
"Stay with me!" I beg. He shakes his head. He can't. I know this. His look is resigned but understanding.
I awaken to my bed with the baby blue sheets, the air conditioner droning. I sit up, feeling slightly dizzy. Realize that one side of my head is pounding. There is a strange sound coming from outside. I get up gingerly and grope for my glasses, find them and peek out into the street. There is some sort of back hoe at the school across the street, it is shoveling up dirt. I glance at my watch. It is not even seven a.m. Kind of early for this shit, isn't it? Especially on a Sunday. Good hell.
I stumble to the bathroom and take my migraine meds, knowing that it is too late for them. The migraine isn't in it's early stage, it has already begun and there is no way to stop it now. Will just have to endure it.
I crawl back into bed and place my hand on my left breast, remembering his there.
But already I have lost his face. Can't remember it. I run the dream through my head so that I don't completely lose it and then, shivering, let the pain in my head block out everything else.
I fall into a migraine sleep. Not really deep, more like skimming on top of sleep, sliding around the pain.
My last thought before I fall asleep is that I am grateful that Bing and Liv aren't here. I am alone in the house and can sleep knowing that I am not disrupting anyone's day.
I will awaken around ten to let the dog out to pee and then fill his bowl with food and water and stumble back to bed. I will stay there until nearly five and awaken to the pounding of the migraine slipping into a smaller, staccato beat.
I will get up and stand in the shower with the water pulsing on my back and will be able to grab just enough of the dream to ponder it.
What do you think?