Written for Friday Fictioneers. Thank you, Rochelle!
Always at the edge of a dream, you appear. Your fingertips caress my cheek, a feathery kiss upon my brow, and a whispered word: “soon.”
You’ve been gone so long I have given you up for dead. Dreams bring you to me, sustenance for the starving.
I awaken after this dream, still feeling your kiss. At this too early hour, I toss, sleep elusive.
A cup of tea calls. I perform the comforting ritual of boiling water, steeping, and then adding milk and sugar. As I stir, my eyes are drawn to the floor near the door where snow melts.