Last night I dreamed that somebody loved me.

Approproately enough: The Smiths

So for the first time, in a long time, I woke up believing what I had dreamed was real. 

The disappointment I felt was more than momentary, but in a way I was glad. 

It started at the end. The boy who had loved me, and whom I loved back at one stage or another, had died, and I was contacted by his tearful sister, incoherent over the dream phone. 

And then I went back, a memory within a dream, and saw how it all happened. 

And it seemed so real, so honest, so lovely. 

Except for the break-dancing. That was just odd. 

It was like a backwards romance novel, and something changed. 

Full disclosure: I've never been in love. 

But maybe I'm becoming more open to it. 

It turns out, I believe in love. 

That's a Sunday revelation for you.

Maybe I'm not as dead inside as I say I am. 

Plus, he was pretty smoking hot, even by my dream standards. 

Laters