The Sun Upon Us
You’re only partially conscious, treading that thin line of wakefulness and sleep, when you dream about infinite light, the way it seems to vibrate the longer you stare and how it flutters across your skin when you fall away, endlessly.
When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the silhouette of a plane moving across the carpet, the light around it refracting as it slides over the sleeping figure on the floor and into the dark fabric of his shirt before disappearing altogether.
The second thing you’re aware of is that he’s also awake and looking at you with sleepy amusement, but mostly you’re caught off-guard at how his eyes look gold from this angle. Your eyes are pretty, you think, except you’ve said it out loud, and for a brief second he looks confused before he laughs a little and closes his eyes.
“You’re pretty funny,” he says under his breath. He reaches his arm up towards you, his hand finding empty space on the couch until it bumps into your hand, his fingers loosely locking with yours. He inhales as deeply as he exhales long, until his breathing steadies and he’s asleep again.
Whenever you remember your dreams about falling, it never occurs to you that maybe you’re falling towards something bright and beautiful, and it’s a pleasant revelation you cling to as you feel yourself slipping back under.
