A loud thunder wakes me up. I slept barely an hour ago. I’m irritated because I didn’t want to wake up. 

I was in a dream. A beautiful dream.

Of course, it was about her. I’m doing my memory justice by immediately writing this after waking up, although I would gladly enjoy my ability to rewind my dreams, as I do with instant (live) conversations. A skill no one would understand, or care for.

Anyway, it was a beautiful stone house. The old kinda stones. There was an alleyway, greeted by an arch, the kind she loves. A bright sunny day. Her linen clothes were hanging on a tightrope just by the arch. 

I could make out a door, and a (few) little puppies around it. But the highlight was just outside.

A big wooden round table. Half of it covered in sunshine, half hiding under the shadow of the arch. She’s setting something up, but I can’t really see what.

So I move forward. There she is, sitting by the table on a wooden chair, peeling a fruit. It was red. Must’ve been a pomegranate. I so want to go near her, pull a chair and help her— I would probably end up just eating the fruit but I resist myself.

For a special, selfish reason. I love to watch her do stuff not knowing I’m watching. It’s as if I can see inside her heart and her mind. I’ve done it oh so many times. I have so many videos of her doing random stuff, not knowing I’m filming. I revisit those often, I don’t mention it to her, but I do. 

Her mode of concentration while doing her hair, her playful little eyes while she paints or draws, the irritation on her face if an ad comes just before her favorite song while she cooks. All of it and so much more.

So I stand by the arch. 

Not interrupting the symphony of the sunlight, the puppies, the linen, the pomegranate, and her.

What a dream.