I had a dream about you again last night. Your long hazel hair glistening in the afternoon sunlight, you looked at me with your coy brown eyes, and a diffident smile, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, uncovering the set of freckles decorated across your face. A beauty in your plainness.
I dream about the memories I had with you. Memories of walking alongside you on our hometown streets. I'd ask where you were going, and you'd tell me "Home" (you never socialized much, and I initiated most our conversations), and I'd invite myself over to your house, which you'd accept, averting your gaze, and your face blushing.
Memories of us spending the days in your bedroom. Days that were, for the most part, made up of me sitting on the bedroom floor, or lying on the edge of your bed while you read to yourself from one of the many books you seemed to be so absorbed in at the time. And sometimes you'd even describe them to me, recounting their stories, and specific scenes, with a passionate enthusiasm that I found captivating.
Your parents always thought you were too young for me, and although you and I were never involved with each other sexually (our time together expressing itself more as a timid dalliance than anything else), I never protested when your mother, or your father, would enter the room and ask me to leave, "I think you should be going now," or "We weren't expecting any guests today," they would say, and I, keeping the mood light and respectful, would accept their request, and leave without any animosity toward them.
Do you have dreams of me too? Do you harbor the same feelings as I do now? I know there was a time when you might have, a time before I could reciprocate the feelings you had for me, before your graduation, and before I left for college at the opposite end of the country.
If you saw me now, outside your dreams, would you revert to that same shy, innocent-looking girl with the freckles and the doe eyes? This is how I remember you: the awkward, out-of-place teen girl whose beauty was in her simplicity; a plain purity that radiated from her so vividly I could never forget it, not even in my dreams.
Dec 3, 2025
Dec 3, 2025 at 11:24 PM UTC
I had a dream about you again last night. Your long hazel hair glistening in the afternoon sunlight, you looked at me with your coy brown eyes, and a diffident smile, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, uncovering the set of freckles decorated across your face. A beauty in your plainness.
I dream about the memories I had with you. Memories of walking alongside you on our hometown streets. I'd ask where you were going, and you'd tell me "Home" (you never socialized much, and I initiated most our conversations), and I'd invite myself over to your house, which you'd accept, averting your gaze, and your face blushing.
Memories of us spending the days in your bedroom. Days that were, for the most part, made up of me sitting on the bedroom floor, or lying on the edge of your bed while you read to yourself from one of the many books you seemed to be so absorbed in at the time. And sometimes you'd even describe them to me, recounting their stories, and specific scenes, with a passionate enthusiasm that I found captivating.
Your parents always thought you were too young for me, and although you and I were never involved with each other sexually (our time together expressing itself more as a timid dalliance than anything else), I never protested when your mother, or your father, would enter the room and ask me to leave, "I think you should be going now," or "We weren't expecting any guests today," they would say, and I, keeping the mood light and respectful, would accept their request, and leave without any animosity toward them.
Do you have dreams of me too? Do you harbor the same feelings as I do now? I know there was a time when you might have, a time before I could reciprocate the feelings you had for me, before your graduation, and before I left for college at the opposite end of the country.
If you saw me now, outside your dreams, would you revert to that same shy, innocent-looking girl with the freckles and the doe eyes? This is how I remember you: the awkward, out-of-place teen girl whose beauty was in her simplicity; a plain purity that radiated from her so vividly I could never forget it, not even in my dreams.
