Cinnamon

In my email this morning, from a friend. It makes me smile.

I had a dream similar to the one I wrote about last year.

I remember it was night again, the kind that creeps up on you and keeps you looking over your shoulder. We did something, like shopping for something in particular though you would not tell me what you were looking for. I acted like it didn't bother me but I was lying.

This time you looked like you, yet even though you were right beside me you were kinda indistinct like I was looking at you from far away. We took a cab to a book store and I told you one of my dreams was to be a cabbie in New York sometime before I die. You laughed and asked me not to do it.

After the book store I was alone with a piece of cheesecake and one of your gloves. It smelled like cinnamon.