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  • I’ve started sharing this bed with you. It’s been happening with some frequency, and I think we both consider it a good thing. It’s one p.m. and I’m looking at the bed we shared last night. You made it after I left for work.

    Interesting – this self-aware construction of a life together. We see the scaffolding, we talk about it as the building in and of itself.

    The bed: I’m here at one p.m. It’s made and there’s a box between the pillows. It’s a little thing, about the size of my first. A label from a local store.

    Inside, blue tissue, straw for packing, two different cards with the same description of what is contained therein. Words like “2,000º F,” “unique.”

    Inside: a little dream catcher jar. That is what it’s called. A “Dream Catcher Jar.” There was text from the artist which I largely ignored.

    A strip of paper with your handwriting: “To hold our dreams…”

    I sleep for an hour. I keep dreaming that I’m waking up.

    A jar to hold our dreams. What a thought.

    We are dreaming. We are falling. The last time I let myself fall this hard, there were knives by the end of the year.

    Baby, I’ve got dreams. Darling, I’ve got nightmares.

    I’m allowing myself this joy. Shit like this – despite the scars, despite the concussions of lovers past, I’ll say it to you, and I’ll mean the hell out of it. I still fucken believe in love.

    You’re making it easy, you’re making it fun.

    Baby, I fall hard. Darling, I crash in the worst of ways.

    But listen, Sweetheart, let’s forget I said that. You’re here, and we’re dreaming. I’m willing to see if that’s enough.
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