My dreams about you are always so stark, like black paint on white canvas with sharp strokes. Whether I’m leaving kisses of sunlight on your skin, or just lying down on moon dewed grass waiting for shooting stars, my head resting on your shoulder, or whether we’re just having an intimate conversation about the way we make each other feel. Last night, we met in dreamland and had a scintillating conversation. Unfortunately, like most of my dreams, the memory of the very vivid conversation we had has buried itself in the hidden recesses of my mind. But it left a lingering feeling of longing for you. Longing to be staring at your hypnotic eyes that hold me in a trance, longing to hear your voice pulling me deeper into the pit I’m falling in, longing to know if you feel the same way. And the longing to hold your hand, be held in your arms, and be yours. Once again. But of course, all dreams end, even the daydreaming. So now I wake up, with the harsh light blinding me to the reality that there is no we, no us. Anymore.