.VII. Waking Dream

Every memory of her is like the sweetest dream.

As I lay dreaming of her face, in my mind's eye the sun gently coalesces with her hair until its' radiance matches the warmth of her skin.

I open my eyes, but nevertheless I remain dreaming.

She lays beside me still, sleeping with the same content smile on her lips that she wore as she closed her eyes the night before.

She lies on my shoulder, her mouth so close to my neck that I swear I can feel the shadows of her lips caressing my skin.

A shiver runs through me, spreading like wildfire from the place where her hand rests on my arm until it expands to every part of my being.

I'm not sure if she will ever read these words I write about her, and it really doesn't matter; I don't need words to show her how much I feel for her. Because if this isn't love, I honestly don't know what could be. 

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