I dreamed of him last night.
He was standing in a shadow by a building covered in vines. I could make out his features only when I focused on the space around him but not when I gazed on the place his eyes would be. He saw me too; it was obvious in his posture and the sharp intake of air that came from his surprise. I walked to him slowly, wary but driven in a way I couldn’t contain.
His hand was raised in a frozen wave, almost like he was waiting for a high-five and I reached for him, touching my fingertips to his. The moment our electricity merged, my eyes drifted closed and I leaned into him, lips finding his forehead; gentle kisses. I drew back slowly, my eyes opening in sync with his, while blue fire raged across the pulse of preterition between us. My hand pushed flat against his, palm to palm, and I could feel the heat of his soul burning through my every ounce of willpower to stay away.
The hard look that masked his fear, always, slid from his face in slow motion and I saw the naked love that used to bring me to my knees; still brings me to my knees, weak with surrender.
“Why don’t you want me?” I whispered, or thought, either way he heard me.
A smile curled the corners of his mouth.
“Because I never get what I want.”