You were in my dreams last night again. Like usual we were on a
date, but this time it was set in outerspace. Candles were floating
around us and our waiter Roberto took our order upsidedown. I think Roberto had a crush on you because he kept throwing rolls at the back of my head and they would float off into infinity. We talked a lot about soup and you played footsie with me. Your eyes
sparkled like the stars around us and a meteor flew by and messed your
hair. You were like the sun and I was like the fourteenth moon of
Jupiter.
It was not at all like the wet dream I had where we were swimming,
or the hot and sultry dream where we were on safari. It was like
nothing I had ever dreamed, or ever dreamed of dreaming. I remember faintly the sound of you expanding into a vast nebula and I made a joke about Orion. You looked away then and became a space donkey and Roberto mounted you with a familiarity that startled me.
I don’t believe that dreams mean anything. That is, anything more than any other message given to me by God. So when I saw the image of your face in my morning breakfast burrito, it didn’t surprise me. I know that I shouldn’t still be dreaming about you after all this time. And I know that the restraining order says I really shouldn’t even be writing this to you. But I feel so strongly about the way the dream ended that I needed to tell you:
You landed on a planet and got implanted with an alien egg that later exploded out of your chest. And I threw Roberto into a black hole.
I don’t know what all this means. I’m no dream interpreter. And I don’t know if my need for you is some sort of reverse Stockholm Syndrome. I’m no criminal pathologist. But this I do know. I’m gonna dream of you again tonight. Because I love you. And because I’m going to drop three tabs of acid and stare at your picture for five hours before drinking myself to sleep.