It was the early morning hours, when the sheets are still tightly wound around your ankles, birds haven’t started chirping — when I had a dream about you.

You were sitting there, stretching your fingers like you always do, rummaging around your head for ideas, taking sips of coffee, and then you looked over at me. I don’t know why I was watching you and to tell you the truth I can’t even tell you why we were together, after all — we barely know each other.

I was afraid you’d let my stare fall onto the floor and get swept under the couch, or tumble into dust in the corner, but you took your hand and moved your fingers toward your waist, slipping under, you pulled out —

And I just stared.

And you let me.