(found curled and twisted into a tight ball)
I hope this finds you well. I don’t have time for the usual courtesies of letter writing, as I’m in quite a hurry.
You told me to write if it happened again, so I’m writing. It happened again.
I’m so convinced that it was her. I mean, I was. I mean, I still am. It was her hair, and it was her hips, and it was the back of her neck. It was her. I’m so convinced that it was.
I found her sleeping on the floor in a room. It might have been mine. It might have been hers. It was really just a room, honestly. But she was in it, lying on the floor.
It was magnetic, whatever it was that brought me towards her. Because suddenly I was kneeling right beside her. Suddenly I was lying on my side with my front pressed against her back, my face pressed into her hair, into the back of her neck.
I remember laying there for an eternity. That’s what felt so real about it. Time moved just as time always moves, slowly and painfully, beautifully, serenely. Time stretched and time stretched, and we just laid against each other on the floor. We just laid there, wrapped around each other.
It was a dream. It certainly felt like one: real, too real, like all the best dreams are.
And we just laid there, against each other on the floor.
I closed my eyes, just for a moment, and I must have fallen asleep. I was so relaxed, for once, there on the floor and next to her. I was. So I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I thought that she’d be right there in my arms, just where I’d left her. But she wasn’t. I expected her to be there. I hoped her to be there. I wanted so desperately her to be there. But she wasn’t.
I wasn’t lying on the floor anymore. I was in my bed. Alone.
It was maybe three or four in the morning when I woke up, but I couldn’t fall asleep again. I just couldn’t.
I’m not sure what to do. I hope I never see her again, whoever she is.