Fiction. (She)

Day 1.
I dreamt about him again.

I don't know why. He's supposed to be a
whisper in the wind. An echo of the past.

But that heaving, the sleek synchronization
of our bodies. The sweet symphony of our moaning.

Absolutely heaven.


I don't know what's happening, this rapturous glory.
I want to be with him again. The dreams, the dreams.
Desperate, I call him again, hoping madly, and wildly,
that he responds.

We chat, but only for a while. The exchanges slow and ponderous.
Yet, that dream. That dream has sparked re-newed interest,
once more. Then, they stopped. He stopped replying.

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Just because. She.

She, always has something to say, even if enough has already
been spoken. She, always has to have her feelings made known,
even though they aren't important.


Just because, she.