Dreamers Never Be Damned

The title does no justice; it gives away nothing pertaining to the true nature of this piece.

Who can say that they’ve been quite lucky or worked hard enough to make their most subconscious desires come to life? In saying that, the writing upon this page is a representation of dreams; dreams that have stepped forward, taken the plunge, and become tangible realities.

 So sit back, relax, and enjoy this insight into my mind.

 My particular taste in homes was never an easy thing to satisfy but somehow, I managed it. Weaving in between the happy guests, I admired the bright glean of the new hardwood floors and freshly painted, sandy-colored walls of the living room. Both features flowed beautifully into the renovated kitchen, beset with dark, speckled granite counters and silver stainless-steel appliances. The guests (friends and family, mostly) admired my first home, appreciating the décor as much as I did.

Though it looked like I burned a hole in my wallet, with the exception of the kitchen, most of it was done by my own hands. Years of planning, creativity, and an addiction to home improvement shows made such beauty possible on a modest budget.

But in being who I am, the hard work that I put into my home made me paranoid at this very moment.

I looked warily at the drinks in my guests’ hands and saw them all as potential accidents. Anxiety made my chest tight as I moved around, chatting and laughing. That wine would never come out of any carpet or rug; what would I do if it splashed on the light-colored walls; the white furniture?

Such a gathering hadn’t been my idea. My friends had planned this shindig and somehow gotten me to go along with it. However, looking around, I realized that they hadn’t been quite truthful about the number of people who would attend. I frowned when I saw someone place a sweating plastic cup on my wooden buffet table… God, help me. Without a coaster.

After rushing about for nearly an hour, exhausted, I climbed two flights of stairs to the master suite bathroom in search of paper towels and cleaning supplies. Yes, it was a party but I refused to have the place trashed beyond recognition.

 I blinked in confusion when I threw the door open, not expecting anyone to be in my personal bathroom.

But he stood there, all six-foot-one of him, shirtless, light golden skin born bare in the mirror above the sinks.

His dark eyes looked towards me for a moment, not expecting to be disturbed probably, and I shook myself out of my surprise. Without greeting him, I sank to my knees and tried to open the under-sink cabinet that he stood in front of.

I was nonplussed. For a time, I had forgotten that this house wasn’t just a product of me… but of him as well. He worked just as hard as I had to turn this place into a home and here I was, trying to make it out like it was all mine. I felt selfish.

My cheeks burned with a guilty blush and I was glad that he couldn’t read my thoughts. In preparations for this get-together, I hadn’t exactly been the partner I used to be. With the exception of the past 24 hours, I acknowledged that he existed but, with dismay, I realized that I couldn’t immediately recall the last time I embraced him or touched my lips to his.

I shook my thoughts away as best I could to deal with them at a later time. The cabinet door tapped against his leg but wouldn’t open fully.

Exasperated, knowing he knew what I was trying to do, I looked up at him in frustration. “Could you move? You can see I’m trying to get to something.”

It was then that I fully took note of what he was doing, rotating his right shoulder, as though it were stiff, in the mirror, barely but noticeably wincing in some pain unknown to me. However, at my words, he ceased his motions and regarded me sternly through the reflective glass. “Oh? Are you paying attention to me?”