Mark Santana

They Don't Write Sonnets About Happiness (Part One)

I dreamt of you last night, and I remember gazing at your beauty. Radiant. I was in love. I am in love. You spoke softly, and you listened to me. I told you all the things I missed, all the things I love, and we sat down in an intimate, dimly lit setting. I couldn't recognize the place. I don't even know if this place exists — after all, this was a place where you spoke to me after all. With your warm inviting voice, and you looked on to me with such openness and embrace. It's a feeling I was more than blessed to enjoy in my life, and it was something that brought me the most joy I’d felt in days. To feel again in that brief moment, even if only for an instant, was both a blessing and a curse.