You Are My Wildest Dream

It's Made from Clouds

In an attempt to contain any over-expressive look on my face after Hannah called me "lover", I quickly run my fingers through my hair to try and ground myself to appear as "normal" as possible. Breaking my internal tension, Paris says, "Cruiser's about to be here" and points out the green vehicle a few miles away. It looks like a little ant running around, with the sand kicking trails of dust into the air from the wheels. The small particles almost look like the very stars that begin peaking out above us. As we wait, Hannah says, "As the loser, you have to do a few things; the first one being you have to take the backseat with me." Paris raises her eyebrow and whispers close to my ear, "Lose more often please, as she always wants the passenger seat, so now it's mine!" which prompts her to rub her hands together in a mischievous celebration. "Hey, no secrets, Paris," Hannah says in a serious tone, then walks over to us to move out of the cruiser's way. We all get in, just as Hannah planned — her and me in the back, Paris in the passenger seat, and the driver.. well.. driving.

Being fueled by curiosity and hunger (for real, I need a big bowl of fries and some strawberries or something), I immediately ask Hannah, "So, are we headed back to the hotel for the night?" Paris overhears and questions Hannah, "Why didn't you tell Rowan what we were doing?!?" Hannah replies, "I meant to! I'm sorry, we played this dressing room game so I completely forgot to tell her!" Paris looks extremely confused when she hears "dressing room game". Hannah turns to me apologetically, "We're just going to get dinner at a place near our hotel. Is that okay?" I'm super eager to eat, but also feeling really insecure for the first time in a while. My outfit is cozy, but I don't know if it's quite up to my cozy-chic standard; aka my usual look. I make a light joke, "Honestly, I don't feel too dinner-worthy in this" I say as I widen my arms for her to get a second look at my outfit. "Yeah," she says, "that's pretty rough." I knew she was joking back, but since I already felt insecure (plus not to mention wanting to impress her) I can't help but let the emotion show on my face; it felt too strong to hide, despite trying to with a forced giggle. She immediately notices and says, "Sorry, it was a shitty joke. I actually really like how it looks. Plus, I wouldn't mind swapping and getting to wear this." She points to my sweatshirt and slowly rubs my arm up and down. As she continues, still rubbing my arm, she asks, "Hmm, what do we think it's made of? Cotton? A blend of something else? Polyester? Maybe fleece?" With each guess, she slowly grips my arm and traces her thumb with every release, before making her way to the next spot. I'm almost too afraid to speak because I don't want to lose this moment. I want her to keep guessing because I want to keep feeling her. I unintentionally let out a slow response, my voice sounding incredibly relaxed, "Clouds. It's made from clouds."