Little Crooked House

I dreamt of you last night. After a really long time.

You were in my arms again, but you weren't stiff and cold. You were warm and I could feel life pulsating through you. I could feel it in your wriggles and in the wag of your tail and the warmth of your hot biscuity breath.

We were sitting in my room; we were sitting on my bed. And it was very cold because it was winter I think, and I held you very, very close and you looked at me with your big and round eyes and I saw the love there and I felt its warmth and its light.

Were you flying through the skies last night and did you see me asleep and alone and decide to invade me? To remind me that wherever you are now, the very essence of you still lingers on, clinging to the life you once knew? No, not clinging perhaps, because I don't like to think of you clinging on to something. Wherever you are, you're free, I know you're free. But sometimes, freedom can be a little lonely and what you really want more than anything, is to snuggle up to someone familiar and feel the circle close around you, protecting you. Just for a little while before you start flying again. Or going back to your long sleep under the earth.

I woke up at dawn and instead of you in my arms, there was sun in my eyes. But it's nice to know that when it comes to love, death is nothing but a shadow line. So easy to tiptoe over.