The Woman I Met In My Dream

I had fallen into a deep sleep the night I met her.

She sat at a high-top table, swinging her legs while staring at a laptop screen. I moved forward hesitantly and she looked up and smiled.

I had never seen her before, but a rushing sense of familiarity overtook me. I knew that smile. It felt like home.

“What are you working on?” I asked, approaching the table.

Her eyes held mine for a moment. Blue, flecked with amber, like a sea on fire.

“I’m uploading a sketch I made for a client.” She tilted her head and studied the computer. “Seeing it on the screen takes away from it though. The character is lost a bit.”

I had never heard her speak before, but I knew her voice. Her words were lilting, tumbling out of her mouth like music.

“Can I see?”

“Not this time.” She smiled.

I was able to take her in for a moment as she closed the laptop and slipped it into a backpack. She blinked more often than the average person, perhaps, because I kept noticing the lashes fall over intelligent, warm eyes. She moved her hands quickly and I was reminded of the way birds flutter and hop from branch to branch when they’re unsure where to settle. Everything about her was new to me, and yet that deep, comfortable feeling of familiarity was still there.

She looked at me again and I meant to ask her name, but before I could speak I felt an odd tugging at my consciousness.

And then, suddenly, I woke up. My bedroom came into focus: white walls, blue curtains, bookshelf. Blankets haphazardly covered me like I had been tossing and turning.

Papers were strewn across my desk, reminding me for a brief moment of a half-written novel I hadn’t touched in months.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes. She was gone, just a dream.

The next night I dreamed again.

I found myself standing in a room with wooden floors and a vaulted ceiling. The space was mostly large windows, and the soft light filtering in made the dust dance in the air.

She was there, sketching, her back to me.

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