I try to find the love in every dream. Sometimes there is no love. Sometimes it’s broken things and duties and misunderstandings. I wake up and look for it inside me, sifting through the debris. My heart exhales, like it has been holding its breath all night.

Every truth corresponds to its own level of consciousness. I say I love you in this timeline and it means nothing in another. There’s a beauty egg that falls between dimensions. It cracks. I rub the milky yolk all over my skin. The elevator dings and I’m on the highest floor, carrying a love that refuses to flatten itself to any one reality.

I enter a lower level of the dream just to be with you. My soul repeats itself. I tell you it’s a sacrifice when I do this, like slipping into an intermission between lives. There is no growth for me here, only the small, holy sweetness of finding you again.