Dream Of Me Once More

September 16, 2008
By Erika Wright, Centerview, MO

-Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream, make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen. Bu dum dum dum. Give him two lips like roses and clovers and tell him that his lonesome nights are over.-
Mr. Sandman by the Chordettes


2:37 A.M.; 247 SE Cherry Street, Kansas City (Kansas)

He raced to her house, eager to get her room, and walked with practiced ease down the spacious white halls. He could only guess at the elegant things her parents would have in this hall; he was more of a midnight lover. If a lover could be described as desperately head over heels when she didn’t even know he existed. No, really.

With a small sigh he stepped into the room, feeling as if all the weights in the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He glanced towards the bed to see her, just to make sure she was still really there. It was a miracle he didn’t like to test. The dark form twisted and turned every few minutes, searching for some form of sleep before the exhausting day of tomorrow. He crept forward towards the bed, but it was only out of habit that he did this; it wasn’t like he could really wake her. Leaning over her bed he smiled at her, wondering what her life was like, what her name was, what kind of friends she had, how she acted around everybody else when these walls weren’t down. Momentarily his hand reached out and brushed the back of her cheek lightly before taking out a vibrant deep sea blue pouch out of his pocket; in it was one of his strongest powers: sleep.

Deftly he opened the bag, pinched some between his fingers and let it kiss her lids gently, covering them in a pale blue powder that made her face glow. His heart still skipped a beat at seeing her like this, all of the reasons why he loved her all lit up and framed in beauty as if she was an angel. He almost felt bad for loving something so good; shouldn’t it belong to the world? Another pale, shimmering, glowing pinch landed on her eyes and he was so used to her that her dreams welled up before his own soul as if they were connected. Amazed at he pureness of her dreams he shook his head and pulled forth one of his personal favorites with another smile: fields and fields of wildflowers. Her face visibly relaxed and a ghost of a smile touched her lips, making his heart forget to beat once more.

Work done and out of the way he pulled up a chair next to her bed, he always came to her last so that he could enjoy her presence in full. Her big doe eyes, quick to smile lips and her pale face that looked oddly beautiful framed by her unruly black hair. But it was the inner beauty that really made her shine like a beacon, one which drew his heart to her and locked it in chains. You could see it in every feature on her body, not one was harsh, not one had an ounce of cruelty and she looked hard for goodness in life. But he knew it wasn’t from a sheltered life; she had seen plenty of pain before. Every once in a while he would come in and end up watching the slow tears trail over her nose, onto her cheek and land on her dark pillow. But it wasn’t the gush of tears that came with a new pain, they were the slow trickle from accepting a slow pain into your life that still hurt just as much as it once did. It had about killed him to watch the pain filled tears roll down her cheeks and not be able to do a thing about it, to not even know what it was that hurt her. He had been careful about what he put into her dreams that night, completely avoiding anything with a tinge of sadness. And that was his love: strong and pure but silent and suppressed in her mortality. His heart yearned to just reach out and touch her, let her at least know he was there, that he would always be there but he knew it was never suppose to be that way between them.

With a familiarly heavy heart he sighed, briefly placing his intangible lips on her cheek as she dreamt of beautiful places that couldn’t exist anywhere but her heart. And his now. But that would be his gift to her, he would give her her most cherished dreams and memories in return for being such a wonderful person; it was the least he could do for such a rarity.

Pulling out another pouch, a silver gray this time, he took a pinch of the fine sand and sprinkled it towards his feet. And without to many regrets the sandman left the room on a pale, shimmering cloud.

And he almost looked liked an angel himself.

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