Bite.

The other day I dreamt pieces of a cockroach landed in my mouth.

"What the hell did you eat that night?"

"Sushi ... really good sushi."

"Sake?"

"Yeah."

"Cold?"

"Warm."

"Well, that explains your cockroach problem ..."

Smirk.

In my dream I also wanted the lime carpet replaced ...

I wanted to tuck my lover's son into bed, maybe read him a story.

I wanted to buy an old four-poster bed for me to share, and clean-smelling clothes. I wanted a vacuum cleaner to suck up the plastered paint chips that were biting the soles of my feet.

I wanted strong coffee. I wanted sex. I wanted my clever-red finger nail polish to be repainted.

I wanted my old life back.

My old life?

Come with me to a place atop the wind, I'll take your wings and fly,
Come with me to a place inside a cloud, I'll show you how to use them ...

I woke up violently - spitting. Trying to rid my mouth of cockroach antennae.

As my eyes came into focus ... I was relieved to be in my bed. The bed I knew - my fluffy oasis of pastel moss-green silk, coral and cream. Billowy pillows hugged close to me. Lavender in the air. Wood floors. Georgia O'Keeffe still on my wall.

I woke up still single. No lover. His son a fragment. The pieces of cockroach gone.

My throat was sore ...

Part of me still wanted to tuck that little boy into bed ... and maybe read him a story.

Maybe.