There you are again, laughing in my dreams. What brings you? Is it the season, the memory, the romance? Do you think of days past and wish for days to come? Do you tease out tangles of hair in the morning? Do you frolic in the sheets in the hours after dusk? I know you do. Or I wish you would. With me.
If once I touched your fingers, and twice I kissed your lips, what wonders, I wonder, a thrice might bring. Friendship, we see, is ever ours, free from the shackles of obligation, unburdened by the finality of decisions old. But what more, I ask, can lurk in the shadows of passion denied? What glorious emotion might be conjured out of common thought? What love may twist about the orchids in the fields? What lust may burn in the meadows of eternity? What that is mine, and what that is yours, could blend into that which is ours?
To you I ask: cannot the Fates be lured with drink? Cannot their endeavors be thus inebriated, so that paths once straight and predetermined might twist and bend and intersect with the unexpected? Cannot the wine of gods quench the dryness in our separation and flood our pallets with the flavor of lifetimes shared? Is it not so? What answers have you? I fear no more than I.
So too I'm afraid that ours is a fairy tale without a fairy. And though I clap my hands every morning and night, there is yet no sign of a happy ending. Do not think, however, that I have given up, or that I ever will.
For there is a question between us unasked and unanswered. Must it remain forever so?