After a few minutes he came back. He put on another shirt and got back into bed. Impossible to tell the time. Time is suspended in the room, with only deep blue sky winding in ribbon-like to guide you through the night.
"Are you okay?" I asked him.
"Yes, I had a dream; not a nightmare." His arm around my waist now, my fingers laced with his.
"Alright." The orange cat came and stared me in the face for a minute. We went back to sleep.
Later, the light suggested it was morning. "What did you dream of?" I wondered, my head on his chest, his fingers in my hair.
"I was driving and it was crowded. The streets were full of many people. I had to drive so slowly not to hit anyone."
We laid there like that, quiet for awhile. Then, "Did you dream?"
I had dreamed I was riding my bicycle up and down hundreds of hills, cartoon hills. I watched myself riding from outside my body, like a film. Up and down the cartoon hills.
"Were you riding by yourself?"
"I was all alone."
Hours passed and more pieces of the dream returned to me. I was wrong: I was followed at a distance.