The night was cold and wet. The drizzle fell with an irregular staccato of starts and stops. The view from his 5th floor motel room window offered another perspective of that bustling street, and the soft street-lamp-infused rain added texture to the canvas. It brought back brief memories of Dublin.
Although more than a foot taller than me, the contrast was far from thought now that we're lying on his motel room bed, snugly knitted in warm embrace. His long arms wrapped around me like a cocoon, my back pressed against his front, his soothing breathing on my hair, and our legs intertwined. His scent was pleasant, and it suited him.
The dreams that came in slumber fleeted ever so swiftly out of mind, as the early morning light found its way to my vision, grounding my senses and consciousness to reality. If asked what they were now, answers I have none. Disturbing they were not, but leftover impressions of strange uneasiness and unfamiliarity were strong.
Until I felt a gentle adoring kiss on my nape.
