a dream of love and joy

The memories are … fuzzy.

I can see her face, half-lit by the dream’s last streetlamp. I remember the clothes she wore, and the feeling of her wool coat brushing my wrist as we walked, hand in hand. I can feel the soft touch of her fingers on my cheek. I can picture the slight redness of her nose and cheeks from the cold, along with her beautiful smile. I can taste the meal we shared at the restaurant. I can hear the click of her camera, an old digital camera that looked like a Fujifilm.

I woke feeling joy. True joy. And love. The kind that inspires the butterflies in your stomach to flutter to their hearts’ content.

Then the details slipped, the memories faded, and the joy dissipated into the old familiar hush of my bedroom.

I searched my memories: no texts. No photos. No yesterday. It was just a dream.

All I was left with was the pain of emptiness and loneliness, a hopefulness for the happiness I could someday have, and an image of her face, slowly fading.

I do not know why God showed me what He did. All I know is that, through the pain and sadness, I look forward to the joy and love I will experience someday.

Someday.

Until then.