I know I’m dreaming.
He would never hover this close, never slip his arm around my waist. His presence is - what’s that word they use to describe ghosts? - ethereal.
His lips are moving, but his voice is nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. I know every word he isn’t saying. I know that he’s lying.
Everything feels slow, like time is moving at half speed. Layla’s here, going in and out of focus, but then she disappears and I read his lips, the only time I’m able.
“It doesn’t matter.”
We’re close, close, so close, but I can’t see his face. If I didn’t know it was Vince, if my heart wasn’t already preparing to ache the minute my eyes open, it could be anyone. Any guy, any touch, any smile, any kiss. Any heartbeat.
His face is clear the second before my eyes open. Here it comes. Reality crashing its way down.
You don’t know me, you don’t know me at all, you don’t know me, you don’t know me at all.
He’s already calling.
This once, I’m refusing to answer.
(186 words, a shout out to the week I missed)
2 comments:
Way to double-run an assignment, first of all.
I know that kind of dream, but the way you captured Samantha's emotions was like a veritable sledgehammer. You made the dream make sense even though it was essentially non-linear, which was awesome.
Seriously - you own the first person POV.
I think you are quite the ruler of the last line. I can feel her frustration. I feel very connected to this story. You have captured what I think a lot of people go through.
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