I dreamt about Ruby last night.
I was in his place, the place that used to be ours. In the dream, it used to be ours, but I know that we never lived anywhere like it. He lived with his girlfriend. We visited, talked, ate, normal things like that. Then his girlfriend went to bed and we made love. Not just fucking, not just sex, not just touching or foreplay. Something that went so much deeper than that. And during it, all the problems that we'd had were gone. He'd changed, bettered, became somewhat close to perfect. And when I had to leave, he asked me to stay. To make love to him again. I did. Then his girlfriend walked in, catching us in the act. She wasn't that upset. But he spent the rest of the dream talking to her, being with her, convincing her that I was just a fluke, a freak accident, and that he never wanted to be with me again, hadn't even ever wanted to be with me in the first place. So I was left. Alone. Bruised, broken, and unloved.
When I awoke, my bruises and cuts were throbbing.
Laters