last dream

I love lazy days with you.


I love lying on the old, beat-up couch, watching cooking shows or crime dramas or whatever’s on the TV while you drift in and out of naps. Your arms circle my waist, your fingers resting on the back of my ribcage, and your chest rises and falls in time with mine. Your feet hang off the end of the couch. We plan our day in soft voices. The faint morning sunlight filters through the curtains, forming a halo of golden brown hair around your head. A small frown forms on your peaceful face when the light hits your eyes, and you bury your face in my midriff to avoid it.


The couch isn’t long enough for both of us, and before long you’re shimmying your way up next to me, snaking arms around my exposed waist and pulling me against you. You let out a sigh as you settle down, letting me lean against the warmth of your chest. You tip your head forward, drawing in a breath with your nose in my hair, and press a kiss against my temple. I reach down and lace my fingers with yours.


The afternoon arrives, and the room grows uncomfortably warm. We get dressed for lunch – me in a short white sundress and brown sandals, and you in a white V-neck tee, navy shorts, and brown boat shoes.


We step out into the sunlight and link hands. I smile. I love holding hands with you. It’s a small gesture, but it feels natural, and it makes me feel safe and protected. You smile back at me, and we walk to our regular café.


The barista smiles in greeting as the bell on the door jingles cheerfully. The café is half-full and quiet folk songs create a relaxing atmosphere. You head to the counter to order as I choose a table. You return with a tray of our usual fare: a black coffee and French toast for you, an earl grey and pancakes with smoked salmon for me. We spend our afternoon people watching and reading from the café’s selection of newspapers and magazines.


As the sun begins to set, we head to the supermarket next door. You grab a trolley and I put my bag in it before leading the way in. We pick up ingredients for dinner – Romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, onions, fresh thyme, and smoked ham. We work together seamlessly at the self-checkout. I scan the items and make payment, while you pick up the bags and wait for me as I fumble with the cards and receipts.


We get home and unpack the groceries. I start dinner; rosti with ham, egg, and cheese. You pull the food processor and a pan out of the overhead shelves. You sneak a kiss on my cheek as you reach past me to plug the processor in, and I laugh.


We finish dinner to the strains of Norah Jones, and you pull me from my seat before I can pile the dishes from the sink. You lead the way into the living room; dark and silent save for the traffic outside the window. You twirl me once and tug me close, your cheek resting on top of my head.


Come away with me and we’ll kiss

On a mountaintop

Come away with me

And I’ll never stop loving you


A few more minutes, and the song ends. We separate and kiss – soft and slow and tired. We wash the dishes quickly and fall into bed.


I dreamt of you last night, for the last time, I think.




La douleur exquise

noun | la doo-LYEUR ex-KEEZ

origin: French

the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable


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