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I still remember the beginning, when everything existed as though painted in a dream. I remember discovering every line of your body, tracing it in my memory over and over. Talking until dawn. You would cradle me in your arms and stroke my hair, soothing, so soothing.

Those were the days you called me your angel, and meant it. I remember aching for you whenever you were gone, such a raw, powerful feeling. Looking into your eyes was like peering into a piece of heaven. Back when you were my savior. Back when you were my saint.

We no longer tuck the night in and wish the dawn good morning. Where once we shared a tiny bed, a king sized one can barely manage us. We are no bigger than we were...we just built silent walls between us. They take up a great deal of space, you know.

You seem to have discovered that your darling angel has some rather shabby wings indeed; as for me, I've learned that my dear saint must have been canonized by a fluke. There's nothing else left for you to save, I fear.

Yet there is still love between us. The dream has just grown quiet. The fog has cleared up. True, we still accept each other for who and what we are. In some ways, the love is stronger. In some ways, this is better for us.

But oh love, there are days when I wish you would teach me to dream again...

This challenge wasn't easy. But I thank you.