You and Me

Today is a day like any other, nothing particularly stands out. Except, as I lay in my bed, tucked in. A haze looms over me, an all familiar intruder. A leftover from my dreams, a sensation that tagged along right at my waking moment. A painful silence, an unfiltered sense of loneliness and longing. I toss and turn, trying to recollect the source of this melancholy. It is when I stare at myself in the mirror, that a stream of images and faces cascade into my mind. My dream, oh, my sweet dream. I remember it all, to the finest detail. The way she looked at me, so delighted to be in my presence. Her sincere and attentive smile. The laughs and stories we shared together. The warmth of our company. But, what I remember most clearly, is what she left behind, written in the palm of my right hand. It was drawn crudely with a pen. A message for my waking self. "I'm not ready to leave you. I want to meet again. Here, call me." Followed by a series of crooked numbers. Without hesitation or thought, I immediately raise my hand to my face. The realization of my actions kick in. I think to myself: "Of course, why do I even bother checking? It was a dream, just a dream." I stay there, however, rubbing and caressing the palm of my right hand. All those fuzzy feelings no longer reside in me. What's left in this fog that surrounds me is nothing more than a lingering and quiet shame.