Well, I don't claim to understand it myself, even now. She was right, of course; as our passion grew, the alarm faded, as if it were further and further away, and then it was just a dim annoyance, like a fly, and then -poof- it was gone.
Anyway, that was quite a while ago. How long, I can't say; a few weeks, perhaps? It's hard to tell. There are no days or nights here – wherever "here" is – so it's not easy to measure the passage of time. We just do what we want to do, when we want to do it. We're never hungry, but sometimes it's fun to eat anyway, and there's always lots of food around when we want it. It just appears, I don't know how to explain it. And we're never tired, but we sleep sometimes anyway, just because we want to. Which is pretty much why we do everything.
But mostly what we do, of course, is make love. Melissa's eyes were green this morning (at least, I think it was morning – but how do you know it's morning if it never gets dark?), and they flashed with an emerald fire brighter than I've ever seen, and I was happy that I was giving her the same kind of pleasure that she gives me, 24 hours a day – if, indeed, there really are days here...
And Melissa sings to me... well, I'm not sure that "sings" is the right word, but she does something and then there's music, like it's flowing right out of the air, and when I close my eyes I can feel it... caressing me, I don't know how else to describe it. Sometimes it tickles.
There's a stream nearby, just like I thought, and we spend a lot of time playing in it, and I swear we generate so much heat sometimes that I'm surprised the water doesn't turn to steam. I've noticed some white-capped mountains off in the distance, I don't know how far; Melissa says that if we want to, we can go there and play in the snow without any clothes on, and we won't even get cold. And when we tire of that, we can pick flowers in the meadow, or climb trees, or run in the grass, or just wrap our arms around each other...
I know this all sounds too good to be true, but it's happening, and it's as real as anything else that has ever happened to me. I don't know how you define reality, but this is good enough for me.
I don't want to tempt fate, but I guess it's safe to say that I've found perfection. I have no desires that are not filled, no needs that are not met. Everything is as it was meant to be. In fact, there's only one thing that worries me at all – well, "worries" may not be the word, because there are no worries here, but there is one thing that is starting to intrude on my personal utopia, and it's probably so insignificant that I shouldn't even mention it at all, but...
Lately, I've been having these dreams about Barbara...
[ Dream Girl Home Page | Selected Writings ]
©1996 Henry Charles Mishkoff