reverie / hs

19

The warmth of Harry's kiss lingered on my lips as I slowly opened my eyes, the dream fading like mist in the morning sun. Reality settled in like a heavy blanket, a suffocating weight that reminded me of the chasm between dreams and waking life. A shiver ran down my spine, the warmth of the dream replaced by a chilling emptiness.

I sat up in bed, clutching the sheets as if trying to hold onto the fleeting remnants of the dream. My heart still echoed with the tenderness of Harry's touch, the sound of his voice whispering in my ears. But as the dream slipped away like sand through my fingers, a pang of longing pierced through me, leaving a hollowness that ached with an unbearable intensity.

The clock on my nightstand read 4:00 AM, the numbers stark and unforgiving against the dark backdrop of my room. The silence of the house was heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock. I wrapped myself in a blanket, the fabric cool against my skin, shivering slightly as I tiptoed down the stairs. The kitchen, with its familiar scent of old wood and dust, offered a meager comfort in the cold, grey morning.

In the dim glow of the refrigerator light, I filled the kettle with water, the porcelain cold beneath my fingertips. The soft hiss of the gas burner as I lit it was a welcome sound, a tiny spark of warmth in the desolate emptiness of the morning. The comforting smell of coffee brewing filled the room, a bittersweet reminder of the dream I was desperately trying to hold onto.

Leaning against the counter, I watched the steam curl from the coffee pot, the aroma a sensory echo of the dream. I traced the rim of my favorite mug with my fingertips, the familiar grooves a tactile reminder of the solidity of the real world. Each sip of the hot coffee was a bitter reminder of the stark contrast between the fantasy of the dream and the harsh reality of my waking life.

The memories of my dream with Harry lingered like wisps of smoke in my mind, refusing to dissipate with the morning light. I could still feel the warmth of his hand on my cheek, the electric shock of his touch, the intensity of his gaze. His voice, a low rumble that vibrated through my body, was still a whisper in my ears. He was so real, so present in my mind, that the emptiness of the waking world felt unbearable.

I wandered back upstairs, the silence of the house pressing in on me like a suffocating cloak. Sitting at my desk, I opened my laptop, the backlit keys a stark contrast to the darkness of the room. I began to type, desperate to capture the fleeting magic of the dream before it faded completely. The words flowed from me, fueled by the lingering ache of his absence and the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a reality where our dream could come true.

 The ache in my chest had softened, replaced by a quiet determination to carry the essence of that dream with me throughout the day. The dream had been a gift, a glimpse into the depths of my own desires, a reminder of the love I craved, and the beauty that existed in a world beyond my waking reality. Closing my laptop, I took a deep breath, the bittersweet scent of coffee lingering in the air. The dream was gone, but the longing it ignited remained.