I was resting my head on his chest, his arm holding me as I clutched his red shirt. The color complimented the browns in his skin making it pop vividly. I gazed at him. Hints of a beard dotting his chin, a strong nose centering his face, dark eyes closed. I loved that face. I could smell the scent of clean laundry as we laid upon white sheets, holding each other close.

He whispered to me gently, “Is this practice? You’ve been practicing a lot.”

I closed my eyes and clutched his shirt till my knuckles tipped white. I knew it was a dream, but I didn’t want to let go.

“Let me have this practice, then.” I said. “Even if it’s just a dream, let me remember how it was to hold you.”