Dream of Me

November 29

            "Yes, it is meant to be, that's what you don't understand," I was desperate now, willing to say or do anything that would keep her with me, keep her here for just a little bit longer. "We can make anything happen if we try hard enough. Don't you believe that? Why else would we have randomly met here? We're probably the only two people in the world that have transcending dreams. And we both meet in one of them? That's more than just a coincidence. That's destiny—fate—whatever you want to call it. Ember," I implored, "you need to understand this. Understand me. We're more than just a coincidence. I need you. I need you to try." Her eyes spoke the words before she even opened her lips. I couldn't bear to hear what she had to say unless it was an agreement to try again. I braced myself for what was to come; the end of this, us, whatever it was.

"I don't know, August," she began to cry softly as well, "I just don't know." We sat there in silence. She was leaning on my chest, my arms wrapping her up, keeping the pieces together. I drank in the presence—her in my arms, light filling the dark holes, rose hues dancing around our fingertips. I consciously noted and thanked every second that passed here, every breath I was aware of, every movement in the dark grass I noticed in an attempt to make this moment immortal, to remember it forever, every detail, every heartbeat. How incredibly cheesy. I know. But I didn't care.

"What's your favourite feeling of all time?" She asked.

"This one," I replied.

"No, I mean really. Besides this. What's your favourite feeling? In the real world?"

"Hm." It was hard to take myself from the perfection of this place and force myself to remember the real world. "I guess I'd have to say walking outside, especially when it's overcast and just slightly raining. It reminds me of when my mother walked me to school when I was younger."

"Do you still go for walks with her?"

"No," I stammered, "she died when I was nine." She turned around, sensing the pain in my voice. She didn't say anything, but leaned forward and met my lips with hers. It was the perfect comfort, because it took me back from the sorrow and into the pure elation of that moment. Her lips on mine, her hands on my chest, her warmth the only consolation I ever needed. "I don't want to leave you here. What if it's the last time?"

"Don't wake up."

"I don't want to."

"I don't either. Let's never wake up. Let's stay here forever."

"Okay."

"I think I love you already."

"I think so too." Comfortable, complete silence. Swirling bioluminescence. Warm, embracing wind. Two-piece puzzle. Completion in every way.

"Don't wake up."

"Don't wake up."

Chapter 19

Outside of myself, I could hear the commotion centring our room. It wasn't around my father's bed; it was around mine.

"I can't get a pulse—"

"Hand me the p—"

"Still nothing."

"Okay, one more—"

"Still nothing." I heard them, and wanted to ask what was wrong, but I couldn't. I was infinitely happy. I had no desire to wake up and tell them that I was fine.