The Cruelty of Waking Up

We were walking, you and I. UL was there, too. He was a little ahead, and you were in the middle, and I was behind you. We were in a wide square (my elementary school’s quadrangle, in fact), not a narrow sidewalk, but there we were, not walking side by side.

You were asking me questions, and I was answering them.

After I answered one question, you turned around to face me. You kissed me on the cheek. I was so surprised, I didn’t move. Then you faced forward again, and we all continued walking.

You did it a few times, kissed me on the cheek after I answered a question. The kisses were slowly approaching my lips.

I don’t remember your questions now, except for the last one. “We’re not just friends, are we?” And you kissed me before I could answer, still on the cheek, but the edge of your lips just about touched the edge of mine. My response was to shift my head, in a leap of faith across three centimetres, to kiss you properly.

I woke up then. It was cruel.

I decided to go back to sleep, in an attempt to return to the dream. I can do that, y’know. I always wonder if other people can do it, too. Sometimes, if I’m awake for only a second, my dream can pick up right where it left off. But this time, I didn’t close my eyes right away. I wanted to linger in the false memory of you.

When I finally slept and the dream resumed, it was already the end of the day in the dream, and somehow we hadn’t seen or talked to each other since I kissed you back. I wanted to text you, “Good night. I love you.” But my fingers couldn’t type the second sentence.

Still in the dream, the following day came, and I was in school but you weren’t. I missed you terribly.

Then I woke up again.

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