Sitting at the edge of my desk, hands poised over the silky, blue-blackness of the keys waiting for the right time, the right place. Where to start, where did it all begin? Feeling your hands on my skin. So smooth, they distract me from my train of thought. Where did you come from, I wonder. Why did you land here. Are you going to stay or have you already left and I just haven’t noticed yet. Wrapped as I am in this bubble of semi-lucid moments. Is it possible you were never there and I imagined it all? The details of your chest, your hands. I remember marking you as mine. Was it real though, or just a dream. I guess I’ll never really be able to tell. I don’t think I care.