Missing the sound of your hands in the grass

Last night I dreamed of the setting sun. I was laying in my back yard looking at the mass of honeysuckle that climbs my fence and blocks out the view of everything behind it. I had my head on my arms, propped behind my shoulders, and I turned to feel my face in the grass, the way it tickled me, the way it smelt. I remember I felt alone, I felt tired, I felt like I was completely full. I dreamed that I was a little drunk, laying there, thinking of the sound of the wind, inhaling deeply the smell of the flowers in front of me.

I had a flower in my hand. An iris, I think, although it was perfectly white with exception of its deep violet center. I held it lazily and dangled it over my lips, across my eyelids and down my cheeks. I lay it back on my chest, inhaling deeply again, and sighing. I played with the stem, gently pulling off bits of it with my thumbnail before flicking it aside.

As I lay there, as I dreamt, I thought of the things I love. Of the people I love. It seemed suddenly they were all there sitting beside me, drinks in hand, smelling like the ocean together, laughing and each taking turns telling me secrets.

Its not that far.

I'm right here.

You're almost there.

Please, don't cry. Its not so bad.

I remember feeling my hair around my sholders, clutching it as I cried softly, looking at them, whispering to them how much I loved them, reaching out to touch them, inches away, but never close enough.

When I woke up I was hot, I was sweating and my face felt wet. I lay there, shivering and shuddering and thinking of everything I love, and promising myself I wouldn't let any of it slip through my hands.

Not a very good one, is it? I'll write more, I think, about my dreams, provided I can keep them in my head.

xx
ag