Illustration: “Melting Men” (detail), by Nele Azevedo
We held hands in my dream, in the waking sleepwalk I call living. We held hands and you explained the lightness in your touch — you were dead. It seemed so natural, I accepted it. I said, of course. You were dead and I was sleepwalking.
We loved so naturally, without demands or needs, I could not see an end. It is easy, especially in the cold of winter, to just survive, to forget what a need is or how to ask for it.
It was only when the earth began to thaw, warm, that I saw the barrenness of us.