"We'll find a way, we'll find a way
To keep the cold night
From breaking in over the walls
Into the wild side, the hunger satisfied
We're burning up,
We might as well be lovers on the sun."
- Lovers on the Sun, David Guetta
Jake woke up in a cold sweat, throbbing, breathing as if he'd run (and lost) a race. The dream was the same as ever. A chill ran down his spine. Of his close friends, Nathan was the only one he had told of the recurring scene. He'd downplayed the fantasy – after all, how many men had dreams like this past puberty? A woman – so real it hurt. The connection he felt – even the residual attachment was tangible. He'd never come close to feeling anything like how he did with her in his arms. She was embodied passion, matching him – challenging him. To what? Where? In his more frustrated moments, he'd thought of contacting some psychic – desperate to locate the woman from his dreams.
Find me.
What if we went his whole life without meeting someone like her?
As his heart rate settled and the sweat dried on his skin, as he controlled his breathing and other parts of him returned to a less turgid state, he both longed and hated whatever was going on in his subconscious. He simultaneously wanted to sleep and never to rest again. He could never predict what was waiting for him between the sheets.
Find me.
How?