I had a dream last night and I woke up crying. Crying because I was happy.

I dreamt I danced around an older man and at the end of the dance I felt compelled to kiss his cheek goodbye. As I grabbed his hand and leaned close to kiss him, he turned into a young man that I found incredibly attractive, and instead of a kiss, we held one another close. He said in my ear, "I want to see you again, I want to bake you a pie, a vegetable pie. I want to take you grocery shopping with me." My reply: "I would like that."

Knowing the whole time that this happened once, knowing that this never happened. Knowing that he left for a year and never came back, once, not long ago, but long enough to make it lifetimes.

But if he had grown old, he would have been that happy old man dancing around the street, dancing with me, the young memory he never forgot. I knew, also, that I wasn't myself. I was someone else too. A memory reflected in a shard of a broken mirror.