Last night, I did not dream of sex, or death. I dreamt of romance, which, in its way, can be almost as hard, because when I wake up, I know it's not real.

I dreamt that I was at home of a woman I know's parents. I was helping out with something that involved bed construction. I was there as a friend, but as I worked with her family, sparks arose. The dream ended as I shared the first tentative sparks of romance with her, in a hallway, and I kissed her on the forehead.