display | more...

You were in my dreams last night again. Like usual we were on a date, but this time it was set in outerspace. Candles were floating around us and our waiter Roberto took our order upsidedown.  I think Roberto had a crush on you because he kept throwing rolls at the back of my head and they would float off into infinity.  We talked a lot about soup and you played footsie with me. Your eyes sparkled like the stars around us and a meteor flew by and messed your hair. You were like the sun and I was like the fourteenth moon of Jupiter.

It was not at all like the wet dream I had where we were swimming, or the hot and sultry dream where we were on safari. It was like nothing I had ever dreamed, or ever dreamed of dreaming.  I remember faintly the sound of you expanding into a vast nebula and I made a joke about Orion. You looked away then and became a space donkey and Roberto mounted you with a familiarity that startled me.

I don’t believe that dreams mean anything. That is, anything more than any other message given to me by God. So when I saw the image of your face in my morning breakfast burrito, it didn’t surprise me. I know that I shouldn’t still be dreaming about you after all this time. And I know that the restraining order says I really shouldn’t even be writing this to you.  But I feel so strongly about the way the dream ended that I needed to tell you:

You landed on a planet and got implanted with an alien egg that later exploded out of your chest.  And I threw Roberto into a black hole.

I don’t know what all this means. I’m no dream interpreter. And I don’t know if my need for you is some sort of reverse Stockholm Syndrome.  I’m no criminal pathologist.  But this I do know. I’m gonna dream of you again tonight. Because I love you.  And because I’m going to drop three tabs of acid and stare at your picture for five hours before drinking myself to sleep.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.