Date UnknownAlmost every night I dream of her.More Like This
I can hear her voice clear as day. I see her laugh with one hand self-consciously placed over her mouth. She scolds me for leaving my jacket and tie on the banister. I’ll be making breakfast as she reads the newspaper and rubs the paper between her fingers while slurping her coffee. Sometimes I dream of when I would hold her as we drifted off to sleep and I could smell the perfume of all the smells she picked up during the day. Other times our bodies are enmeshed. Her fingernails dig into my back; I feel her toes curl, pressed up against my legs.
I am beginning to wonder if those memories were ever my reality to begin with. After all, I don’t look like the man in my dreams. Maybe I pulled scenes from a book or movie and lived vicariously through them. Was I ever who I claimed to be? Did I ever truly know anyone I ever met? Which is the reality and which is the dream?
Normally I would be more inclined to believe that the picture-perfect dom