MEETING IN THE SPACE BETWEEN DREAMS.

There once was a girl who used to close her eyes and tell herself stories every night as she slept.

Or as she tried to.

She would imagine dungeons and dragons and, or the light-footed sandals of Achilles whisking her high up into the air.

She would imagine breathing fire, bending water, having the clouds whisper into her ears.

Sometimes, when sleep did finally surrender itself to her wanting embrace, she would wake and want only to capture those dreams-before-dreams in words.

But by then, they were almost always forgotten.

But then she met a boy who was different to her.

Where she read books and studied words and marvelled at the multiplicity of meaning

(she overthought a lot)

He was practical and logical, applied this to his ambition and thought through a lense of numbers and strategies.

But such is often the beauty of encountering a mind so different to your own.

They often sat quietly, trying patiently to guess what the other was thinking.  

And then he told her own one night, before she had time for any confessions of her own,

That he too made up stories in his head every night as he waited for sleep.

“I usually give myself superpowers”, he said,

and she smiled.