Quickly, Slowly

I had the dream. The one where he comes home.

When my alarm went off this morning, I moved closer to the edge of the bed and waved a hand in its direction. Then I rolled over and looked at the bed. Pillows, blankets, and clothes littered the other side. He was not there.

I dreamt he was here, and it felt like I'd lost him somehow. It was one of those dreams that felt so real. I felt disappointed, let down. I felt like if I had woken sooner, I might have found him next to me.

There wasn't any crying in this dream. There was wild, uninhibited laughter and smiles. I kept walking away, turning my back, and daring myself to look again. When I would turn around, he would be there, smiling right back at me. He still had his uniform on, and it was dirty and dusty from another country. Little cuts and bruises decorated his arms, his face. I kissed them, I kissed his cheek, and I hugged him closer than I knew was possible. I don't remember what we said to each other, but it wasn't even in the vein of "I miss you". It was past that. I just felt as if we were so together finally.

I don't have time to write this so early. I need to run out the door to work before I'm late. But dreams rarely break my heart the way this did, so I quickly scribble this. It's May, and he'll be home around August. I look at the calendar, at the clocks, and everything that counts time, and I hold onto his shirt for dear life, hoping I don't have have a dream like this again. It's too much happiness to be whisked away from me by the morning light.