This dream was particularly strange for a number of reasons. I don't remember where it started exactly, but I remember the girl. She was vivacious, spirited, and I distinctly remember holding her about her waist with both hands as we danced. It wasn't a waltz or anything that formal that I can recall. I just remembered holding her by the waistband of her jeans as we twirled, lifting her up, her hands on my shoulders, hearing her laughter and seeing her hair flare out in the sun. And when I brought her back down to earth, her arms surrounded my neck as she pressed her form against me.
We danced like that for some time, and I knew of nothing else but her smile and the warmth of her body in my hands. As well as the softness of her lips. When we finally came to a stop she peeled herself from me smoothly, like two statically charged pages of a magazine tearing reluctantly away from each other, until only our hands remained in contact. She held mine loosely around my knuckles and lead me over to an examination table.
I couldn't recall it's shape or form, or even if it had one at all. It was a part of the white space that made up the fog of the dream, or my memory of it. It was there and wasn't. She had released my hand, suddenly and inexplicably divested of her clothing, and lay down upon the table to stare up at the void around us. She seemed almost nervous, yet smiled reassuringly when I reached up to her face, my fingers tracing from her ear to her chin.
I leaned over and pressed my lips gently against hers, breathing in her sigh as my hand continued down to palm her neck, following the curve of her shoulder. I broke the kiss, lifting myself up as my hand traced her breast and settled onto the ribs beneath it. My fingers traced the bone beneath her flesh, and she stifled a giggle. I could feel the smile tug at the corners of my lips at that, and I looked up to see her swallow before asking me a question.
"Trying to find the quickest way to my heart?"
"You mean other than between the third and fourth rib?"
She smiled at the joke, and I spread my hand out against her body, watching it rise and fall with each breath she took. And then I opened my eyes, the brightness of her smile replaced by the sun reflecting off the walls of my bedroom.
This wasn't the first time I dreamed of her, but as things stand I almost hope that it's the last. I realize that, if there is any meaning to dreams they're probably more than as they initially seem. If there's any meaning. Regardless of what my subconscious may be trying to tell me, I'd rather it find a different... approach.
