I dreamt about you. I hate when I dream about you, it reminds me I still love you.

My grandfather (Pops)–used to say to my Grandmother (Gam),

‘ahhh woman–lovin’ you is easy–it’s living with you that’s killin’ me.”

She hated that–then he would chase her around, trying to make her dance to some jazz that he always had playing way too loud, she hated that too–the jazz not the dancing.

The dreams I have about you always remind me of the dreams I held in reality. They seem silly now that life has had their way with them, those simple ideas I had about love. A dance like my Pops and Gam. Cooking together–arguing in the grocery store about ingredients. Those quirks and niches we hold and how we come together forming our own quirks.

Often I miss your warped innocence and optimism, your voice telling me– whispering in my ear…

“it’ll all be alright, we’ll make it work… just gimme that smile.”

I believed you so many times, even when I knew it wouldn’t be alright, and my snowflake smile would always end up in tears.

I dreamt of winter in Denver. I left you–I had fucking left you–for about the hundredth time. Leaving you really did feel like my heart was broken, like I was suffocating, I could not see clearly every thing was dirty and gray.  It felt like I had stopped breathing and when I would start again, it was a forced deep breath, followed by a toxic exhale.

When you showed up my silly dream came with you and we danced. We fucked, I cried when I finally felt your dick inside me again. Riding your solid beam, my strong thick thighs flanking the side of your body, your abs tight and contracting every time my pussy swallowed down onto you. Your hands grasping around my tits like  handles that if you let go you would lose me again. Never did you close your eyes–watching my body rock into yours, almost surprised that I was yours. I came all over your cock, the build up of all that love and hate I had for you poured out of my cunt and soaked us, and I continued to fuck you after I came and I cried and fucked, and I fucked, and I fucked.

Your cock coated in me tasted so right, I love worshiping at your root, you always get so hard and look so good–like a carved stone art dildo. I never needed a cock as much as I needed yours. I needed you to feed me a constant flow of your dick. I needed you in my mouth,  I needed to taste my pussy on your shaft and taste your cum fill my mouth and slide down my throat. It was a need I never quite understood.

When I woke up my fingers where fucking my pussy, I couldn’t breath, I felt like the weight of your body was on top of me, crushing me–I fucked myself, I came and I cried and I came again and the night dream fragmented into morning sunlight.