Dream, or Nightmare?
School dance. The gym is overheated with the clusters of sweating students and disconnected hip-hop beats permeate the air.
Russell winks at me from across the room as I attempt to dance with Kyra. Kyra. That’s her name. It rolls off the tongue as easily as she graces the glossed wooden floor.
At first, she’s dancing maybe a foot away from me, watching me for my weak tries at a rhythm. But then, she’s closer. Inches, then barely anything at all is between us. So close I can feel her chocolate brown hair draping over my shoulders. Close enough to feel the tingle of her pillow lips brushing against my cheek.
I woke up. My room was a shade of blue, the swathes of darkness penetrated by beams of soft moonlight.