Me and You.

I had a dream that I knew you. And I walked you home, but you hurt your ankle, trying to impress those on the stage. I carried you through a suburban neighbourhood, and you said, 'It's been a  few good days.' I smiled, nodded and tried not to stare into the sun. 'But come September...' And there and then, the smile was gone, faded like the sunset in the distance. 'I know,'  I replied. 'It's going to be hard.'

We were in Paris together. The hotel window gave a midnight breeze, an impression of a French city full of wonder and mystery, dipped in neon lights, and we locked eyes again. "Kiss me" seemed the words running in my head that moment, and I just look down with that smile I try to hide from you, but you manage to catch it. Then you take the words right of my mouth when you move and your lips move too.

I was in Paris, staring at the Arc De Triomphe from a 5000 number hotel room, and you smiled. 'Happy Christmas.' It was the sweetest dream I ever had, not the oddest one, or even the most vivid one, but a sweet dream. But, they always have a way of being just that, dreams.