I dream of the things we did. I dream of what we could have done. I dream of the past, and I dream for the future. Only the dreams remain. I dream of a simpler time. She was still there to see me. I can still see her, vividly, but only in dreams. These dreams consist of small moments, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Things like holding hands on a walk through the park, or baking cookies in her kitchen together. Things like wrapping my arm around her shoulders, holding her close, as we simply stand there, enjoying each other’s company. Things we did when she was around, and things I wish we’d done. More often it’s things I wish we’d done. Reality is blurred in dreams. It’s hard to tell what actually happened and what’s just imagination. The things I wish we’d done become things we did and vice versa. It all seems real to me. So tangible, and yet, so intangible at the same time. That’s what dreams are, I guess. Portals to the unknown, to the ‘what could have been’ to the ‘if only’. Reality mixed with fantasy to concoct an intoxicating mental phenomenon. I drink from the cup often. I long for the day when she sees me again. I can see her, of course. But only in dreams.