It wasn't real, it was only a dream; but it reminded me none the less of my body, laying in the day warm water as the air vent passed through the shower curtain, imitating as if it belonged to summer.
It was a dream; but a romantic dream that created fiction, inspired from human loneliness. I thought of days when the brush of someones body, or attention of another could satisfy weeks of high romance, and the mind could survive suffering in fantasy.
It made up a story of a broken hearted girl, who believed she'd never be loved for who she was; yet she lived her life, while he found her instead; giving her the love she surrendered asking for. He kissed her in his car as it rained outside. The overtone of grey was bright enough to call it day and not a gloomy disappointment to his kiss. She no longer felt the need to hide how she enjoyed grey-skied days, as though intuitively she knew they'd would be with her, delivering her to a moment where she'd be telling herself 'I belong here, I've earned this, I deserve this.'
She took the moment and ate the abundant love, and took the consequences that it brought even if the dream didn't last the rest of her life. Her heart was cast over everything she knew, and she had workers who would sweep the entrance of its home. If her love didn't wake in the morning, there was the guarantee of the sun, or the clouds, or the sky. Her heart was cast over everything she knew. She was strong and knew how to receive the romance she constantly desired.
What made his kiss alive was that he also greeted the sun, and he practiced loving her, with or without reasons.
It wasn't real, it was only a dream, but it reminded me of myself none the less.
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