dear girl from last night,
in my dream, we were talking. you walked in and i was holding a pen and a notebook. i was asking many questions and you asked why. i said, what use was it talking with a journalist if we didn’t have so many questions?
you smiled. it was then i realized i was dressed down to my underwear with only a sheet draped over me. in retrospect perhaps i was asking so many questions to make you feel as vulnerable as i was?
you asked me if i liked you. i smiled and said, i do, but not that way. you didn’t really have a face. you asked me to keep still. it felt like you were drawing me, and part of my pose was to look the other way.
when it was done, instead of showing me, you moved to kiss me and i was pushing against your chest, saying, i’m that girl you get to draw but don’t get to sleep with.
i’m still wondering who you could be — for someone i don’t know, i sure had something to tell you, didn’t i.
