Another dream!
But this time we were dancing, Christine, you taught me to dance! Or did I teach you? I suppose it's really of no matter; we were dancing, and we both knew the steps. We were flawless, as if we'd practiced it endlessly for a thousand nights. It was so mellow; so soothing. And somehow I knew, for both of us, that it was our first time; we'd never danced that dance before, but we knew it so well. And it was snowing; oh, how it was snowing. I was not cold, though – no, my heart, my very soul, was deeply glowing. And it's no wonder – your palm was warm and soft in mine; I held you gently around the waist. Maybe you were unaware of the contact that sent me spinning into foolish rapture; you stared so deeply into my eyes. What beauty lies therein, Christine, in your eyes. I thought of flowers; I thought of roses. Such authoritative delicacy.
You gently dust my heart with your fingertips; your hand is in mine – it is a soul-link. Snow, then – do you like snow? You seem to. Bittersweet. For this moment cannot be only mine, only ours; you've shared in it once before. Perhaps you weren't dancing, but that doesn't dwindle the flame that existed. The one I harbored that is; some gnawing jealousy that ravaged me, inside and out.
But I disregard that as I hold you; I forget everything but you as we dance. I almost want a name for our graceful steps; I want a name for this moment that we may call our own. What do you name such a thing? And so I search your eyes for the answer; they never fail to satisfy me. Oh, but I see so many things; your soul soars unbounded, and I dare not try to capture it. I am bedazzled by your freedom. I pretend not to see the bruises on your wrists; I deny that I ever restrained you. Those marks are visible to no one else; I alone constrained you; I alone made an attempt to possess you. Ah, but what a fool I was (I am) – smoke cannot be caught. You drift just as easily as smoke, Christine, and burn my lungs so when I inhale you. But my god is it ever sweet.
I was not fortunate enough to have this dream in color, dearest.
But here is where I am capable of optimism; here is where the sun, unaided, can piece my ominous shadows. For I realize that one day there will be a moment of color; overwhelming brightness and brilliance for only you and me, if only for a day; a single moment.
And I'll be damned if I won't dream a thousand dreams in black and white until that one moment of color.
Remember, my dear, that I will wait. I will wait an eternity for you.
Always, love.