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  • dearabi

Sweet Dreams are Made of These

And there he was. Wearing the same shirt he wore to her birthday party. Looking like a good time, and smelling like beer. I could totally use a tall glass right now she thought.

The 79º day made his 31st floor condo warm and stuffy, but the cool breeze and cold hardwood floors made it easy like Sunday morning. Or Tuesday night. They walked towards the balcony in the dark, the only light illuminating their way came from the cityscape outside. Some things do look better with the lights off, New York City is one of those things. The sun sets and hides the stressed, the weary, and worn in its shadows allowing the moon to glamorize everything else. She could see the lights from atop the Brooklyn Bridge twinkling in the distance, and the seaport lights reflecting off the waters surface.

“This view is hideous,” she joked with a disgusted look on her face. “I don’t know why anyone would want to live here.” They joked around some more, shared a few stories, and then he put his arms around her waist as he nestled his face in between her neck and shoulder. Mmmm. It was time to go inside.

Money Train was on but the focus was on each other. It was their first real conversation. Sober. She finally found out what he did that allowed him to afford such a lavish abode. He built airplanes. She wasn’t impressed. He was still just a man – nothing more, nothing less. And then he told her he taught himself how to build planes just by reading books. Ohhh. It was time to go to bed.

He picked her up and carefully carried her to his room. He did it effortlessly and she felt so small in his arms. He gently laid her on his bed and took off his shirt. With one arm he lifted her body up and slid the sheets underneath them. She wrapped both hands around the back of his neck, looked ambition right in the eyes, then invited him in.

The next morning she woke up to the sun shining on her face. It was only 7:30am and she already felt its warmth on her skin. She tippy-toed to the bathroom to take a shower, but not before she paused and soaked it all in. There she stood in just her t-shirt and panties staring at a million-dollar view of the city she loved. But she didn’t want it. She wanted her own. Something was up. She felt … different. Even when she took a shower, and brushed her teeth, and curled her hair, it was to a rhythm she had never heard before. He hit that. Then it hit her…

That night she slept with success. And in the morning, she realized what she really wanted: to make love to her dreams.

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