TITLE IDEA! feedback pleaseee?

Close Your Eyes- fits the dream theme as ones eyes are usually closed whilst dreaming; when someone says it to someone else it usually is under very adorable/romantic/generally good circumstances in which case the darkness of the story would turn a twist on the phrase; on the contrary however people will say it when they want to protect one from see something unpleasant, such as the events which occur in our protagonists (Elizabeth [Izzy] as I've now-possibly temporarily-named her) dreams.

[title suggestions?] part three

My head sat heavily in the palms of my hands and I heard the squeaking noise of our front door opening. The familiar padding of your Chucks across the hardwood flooring came nearer before I felt your hands slip smoothly around my waist. You kissed me lightly at the part of my neck between my ear and jaw. A shiver went down my back and I couldn't help smiling as I lifted my face to take in yours with the same affect as every other day. My mind just can't get enough, nor can my heart which skipped now and always as you lightly brushed your lips over mine.

"What are you still doing up?" you asked kindly. It was a reasonable question; the clock ticked away, mocking me with its bright red hands reading two twenty-seven AM. I simply shrugged and stifled a powerful yawn. You giggled slightly and swiftly, unbelievably easily, lifted me from the chair and into your arms. I wrapped my own arms around your warm neck and rested my head on your shoulder. You seemed to glide toward our bedroom as I played lightly with the short hairs at the back of your neck. Your shirt smelled of a sweet sawdusty fruit, nearly impossible to describe and unbelievably soothing. Smoothly you placed me upon the delicate comforter of our bed and without releasing me, maneuvered your body over mine to rest light and warm by my side. You placed your hand, the thin hand of a pianist, on my stomach and left your other wrapped around my shoulders, gently twirling a long strand of red hair that fell loose from my bun. The tip of your nose tickled my ear, which then turned to a tick and a searing burn. I jumped back and rolled from the bed, hair in a wild tangle and you looked at me with a hurt expression of startled confusion. My hand flew immediately to my ear which still stung strongly and felt stick on the tips of my fingers.

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?" you asked, your strong voice wavering with concern as you spoke my full name for probably only the fourth time in our many years together.

"My ear," my voice was weak and cracked slightly. "You burned it..." it sounded more ridiculous coming from my mouth than your expression let on. You beckoned me back to the bed and u slowly sat on the edge, almost frightened to get to close to you. Ignoring my hesitation you slid up to me and carefully put your fingers to my ear, I winced, expecting the same white hot pain, but felt only your smooth fingertips running the length of my ear, and then slowly down my jaw-line. My ear was unscathed, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek to know how foolish I must have seemed not only to you but to myself. I knew now I wouldn't tell you of my dreams of the past week, something so small as this put enough fear and worry on your shoulders.

Your hand cupped my wet cheek and pulled me into your chest. I was completely aware of ever part if me that was touching you, each feeling magnified. Slowly you layer us back into the pillows and pulled me closer into you. The tears still streamed from my eyes but I made no noise and held my body stiffly still so as to not let it show; I knew you knew anyway.

You fell asleep long before I, breathing deep and low rhythmically in my unharmed ear. I in fact didn't sleep at all, but forced myself to stay awake, founding your respirations and forming a tune out of them in my head. I couldn't bear to have another episode while in your care.

All too soon your alarm sounded, buzzing that obnoxious screech repeatedly in my ear, ringing through my aching head. You reached groggily across me to smack it and then plopped your arm across my chest, asleep as though you'd never woken up. I smiled to myself and rolled onto my side so that my face was inches from yours. I could feel the warm breath from your nose blow smoothly across my chin.

[title suggestions?] part two

Soft, almost prickly on my fingertips; I swung my arm slightly, my fingers brushing across the fluff with every swoop. I reached down a little further and twisted my hand in the furriness, twining it through my fingers. Lix may be an old dog but he's got the soft fur of a pup. I continued stroking him and slowly his fur began to feel moist, and then matted. I opened my eyes but saw only a black sheet before them. In a panic I leapt from the bed to the floor. It was cold and bare, like cement and not the carpet I knew should be covering my bedroom floor. I reached out to where Lix lied and touched the rough scratchy material that was now his fur. A low menacing, but almost saddening growl rumbled from deep in his tummy, it was quiet but I felt the whole room quiver with its vibration.

Suddenly I no longer felt Lix's cold fur. I snapped my hand back in confusion and before I knew it his head hit hard in by stomach with teeth bared. The pain shot from my abdomen through my entire body, down my arms and legs as I squeezed my eyes shut to keep myself from screaming. I didn't want to wake you...

My eyes flew open and I saw the white light of the morning shining through our room. I was lying on the floor-- on the carpet-- beside my bed. Lix lied at my feet, his big golden head rested gently on his paws; no blood on his mouth, no wound on my stomach. Just a dream. But there was a different sort of twinge of pain almost throbbing in my lower abdomen, I slowly rose to my feet and ran to the bathroom as the pain rose to my chest, a hot and salty liquid flowed from under my tongue, filling my mouth and I felt the urge to burp but held it in. The saliva flowed faster than I could swallow it and just as I reached the toilet my stomach lurched and I watched as all the contents of last nights spaghetti poured into the blue of what was once clean toilet water. I stood for a moment, my arms shaking with the tight grasp I had on the seat, my palms sweating. I flushed and stood up straight and wiped my mouth dry with the back of my hand. My tongue still held the bitter taste of bile as I stripped naked and snatched my tooth brush from the sink. Steam filled the bathroom fast and I stepped in the hot refreshing wave of the shower. I closed the curtain and stood facing the faucet, my face directly in the spray of water.

Thoughts of my dreams filled my head as I scrubbed my apple scented shampoo into my scalp. Every night I'd had one dream or another, all fluctuating in event and meaning. They weren't all nightmares, but they all kept me from getting the sleep I longed for. Suds ran down my cheeks and over my neck as I rinsed my hair. I took my toothbrush and loaded it with the strongest toothpaste I owned, burning the vomit residue from my tongue and teeth. I gratefully rinsed my mouth clear and stood for a moment, letting the water run down my body, smoothly over my breasts and stomach, down my legs and flowing neatly off my feet, swirling into the drain.

Back in my room I tossed my towel across the bed and slumped into my soft pillow, still undressed; relaxed. My wet hair soaked through the pillow case and into the bedspread. I wished that you were home; I wanted nothing more in this moment than to cuddle up as close into your chest as I could and sleep for hours in your arms. But of course, today was Monday, your busy day and I probably wouldn't see you until tomorrow evening unless I woke up to see you tonight. I wiped my tears unsuccessfully on my already soaked pillow, it seemed I hardly saw you these days and I was beginning to get lost being alone so much. Just then I got a glimpse at the clock; eleven-thirty already. Sniffing away the rest of my tears, I tore myself from the comfort of the bed and forced myself into a new pair of flannel pajamas before making my way to the kitchen.

The cornflower blue walls welcomed me in the light if near-noon, the radio--left on last night, probably by me in my sleepless stupor-- hummed through the room, filling it with the sweet sound of your favorite CD. I dumped the remaining cold coffee from this morning’s pot into the sink and watched as the brown fluid spun down the drain, leaving the bitter sweet smell of your favorite caffeinated drink behind. I proceeded to rinse the filter of coffee grounds and refill it followed by fresh water at the back of the machine. I flicked it on and leaned back against the counter, admiring the salt and pepper shakers that I already knew so well. They were in the shape of dolphins, balancing in their tails. The salt shaker was a clear and light crystalline blue and the pepper shaker was a solid ceramic of the same blue shade, both holding tiny shining eyes of Swarovski crystal. They were a wedding gift to us from my good friend Melanie, bought in Ireland.

I turned and leaned my elbows on the edge of the sink, rested my chin in my hands and gazed out the window to our backyard. It was my favorite part of our home with its lush grass and small white lattice fence. To the left short willows and cherry blossom trees surrounded the koi filled pond, only seven feet across the long way; a white bridge matching the fence stood across the shorter four foot section. The part of the yard that I liked to call my garden sat at the right; the only unattractive portion of our lawn, crawling with dried up vines and leaves of undistinguishable dead plants. I didn't have much of the green thumb my mother did and I frowned to myself at the eye sore that resided in our yard for it.

Mr. Coffee beeped, alerting me that my delicious pot of heaven was ready, even though it was probably the last thing I needed after puking so randomly. I pulled a mug from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer and set them beside the coffee machine. I didn't feel as though I'd just thrown up, in fact I'd nearly forgotten it. The fridge blew refreshing cool air in my face as I dug for the half and half. I didn't like my coffee quite as sweet as yours but I'd bet that I always go lighter, I hated that we only ever had half and half and not pure cream.

The couch was very welcoming to my cold and tired body as I plopped myself into the soft micro fiber material. I curled up in my royal blue Snuggie and sipped slowly at my cup. It was a chilly day, cloudy and gray; as gloomy as the TV seemed to feel, with the most depressing reruns of almost every show. I settled with the first Lord of the Rings film on HBO for kicks. I'd read the books as a kid and I never much saw what was all the hype; then of course the movies came out and you can't go wrong when you've got Orlando Bloom on your side.

I must have fallen asleep fast because the scene suddenly changed from the hobbits dancing happily at the Shire to Frodo being rescued by Liv Tyler after being stabbed. I gasped inwardly as I suddenly felt a jolt of pain in my side. Looking down I saw my shirt and couch soaked with warm red blood. My own. I tore myself painfully from my lounging position and stumbled to my feet, collapsing against the coffee table in white hot pain. My eyes clouded with white and I could hardly make out the objects around me. I felt around and crawled with the strength only of sheer will to the bathroom. I pulled myself failingly to my feet and reached for the cabinet. I'd hardly gotten it open when my hand slipped on the counter and I fell to the floor, my head smacking the toilet seat. The throbbing in my head distracted me from the agonizing tenderness in my abdomen as I stumbled to my feet. I stood dizzily swaying and focused on my own image in the mirror. My face was colorless, paler than usual, and I had a massive purpling mark on my temple where I’d hit the toilet. I took a deep breath, realizing the absence of pain from my stomach; the absence of blood.

[next story, to be started...soon...]

Based on a dream a friend of mine had. info from said friend:

there was a couple dating (and i pictured them as in high school but it could work at any age level really) and the girl died and her ghost followed her boyfriend around and would like hug him and touch him and then one time he felt it and then he could see her and it became this thing where like he could see her wenever she wanted him to and he became attached so the plot would be that she had to help him move on and let go of her and find someone else

i thought that they would get in a car crash and someone would t-bone them on her side and thats y she dies and he just gets injured.

i thought spencer would be cute for the boy and then i wasnt sure bout the girl; some name that has a cute nickname.

[title suggestions?] Part one

Deep swirls spun to blend as one color and then slowed back to the copper and khaki that made up my homemade caramel latté. I gazed into the mug and continued to stir it, though it had long become cold and I'd not taken one sip. I was wasting time with which I could've been cleaning, or reading, or sleeping-- but God knows I need more of that.

Mr. Coffee grumbled as it began to brew your second pot this dark and early morning. You're such a coffeeholic, I swear you probably pee the stuff out because there's just too much to filter. Yet you’re always as calm as old Lix, damn mutt ate the hibiscus again. He's just begging to go, I'm not sure he's even got enough energy left to last the rest of this year...do I even? But as I now stared through the hibiscus, having it on my mind, I realized it was unharmed. So Lix hadn't eaten it, must've been...a dream? No, I must just be so used to my plants dying to that old rag that I half expected it to have happened, and subconsciously convinced myself it had.

The subconscious tells us the oddest of things; you'll never know when it's lying to you. But you seem to have your head strong on your shoulders; do you even have a subconscious, or do you just live life confident in what you see?

Your spoon tapped lightly to the insides of your mug as you mixed in your extra cream-extra sugar, creating a steady rhythm that continued playing on in my ears even after you'd sat beside me at the counter. Only the warm touch of your lips to my cheek snapped me back from my coffee reverie.

Your eyes glowed this morning with the bliss I only wished I could find-- that which I only experienced when I was with you. But maybe you only experience it with me too? I mean, how could I know if your dark eyes-- so deep I can practically swim in them-- are just plain brown when I'm not around to see them? I wondered how my eyes looked to you; were they the same weak gray as I see them in the reflection of my spoon, or did they take on a cobalt glow in the exuberance I gain from your presence?

Steam rose is swirls from your drink, tickling your nose while you delicately sipped from your overlarge mug. Your mouth tightened at the corners as you swallowed the mouthful, painfully I assumed from what I read in your face. You've never given your coffee time to cool down before you bury your face in it. You also hadn't touched your hair yet this morning, it was all over the place and that cowlick in the back stuck straight up. Your choppy bangs fell in your eyes and danced with your long dark eyelashes when you blinked. I love your hair like that most; sometimes I wish you'd leave it like that or even style it that way on purpose. It makes those days when we skip work together even more enjoyable; simply sitting around the house the way we wake up, doing whatever our hearts please. It's been a while since we had a day like that; I'm sure you've noticed too.

You realized I was staring at you, and you smiled at me-- that smile that pulled me in the first and every time after. I quickly look away, like a girl in junior high looking away from her crush-to-end-all-crushes. That smile, your eyes, the love that emanates from you when we're together; it overwhelms me every time I look at you, making my chest swell ‘til it's difficult to breathe as my heart drums a rapid and erratic tempo. Infatuation; a split second and I return to normal, I can look at your face and smile back, convincing you I'm alright-- because in those moments that I am compelled to look away, I want nothing more than to stare at you. Into you.

Light crept through the window, flowing across the sink and countertop, the floor and rug, the table, spoons, mugs, your hands and eventually your face. We sit, the silence filling our ears while we have our wordless conversation. Your long eyelashes slowly close and open to your thoughts, I wish I knew what they knew.

Past your face was the refrigerator, black in my unfocused eyes with the pictures of our lives. Without centering in on them I knew what each one was. There was my first birthday party, my fat red cheeks coated with sticky icing; you at bat for a little league game sometime when you were ten, wearing a dark green jersey, the number 19 on your back, unseen in the picture; our third date, the fishing trip with your family when we were in high school, my sophomore year and your senior. You stood behind me, your arms wrapped around to hold my hands, helping me to handle the pole correctly; such a cliché and cheesy move, but I did it wrong on purpose. There was also a picture of our wedding, of you embracing me for that life locking kiss; a picture of our niece, Abbey, playing in the sand on her third birthday two years ago; a picture of my patents, lost a year after our wedding in a plane crash. There was an ultrasound photo of what would have been our first child, our son. I still tear up at the thought of William Parker Doyle; he would have been three this May...

Your coffee finished, you rose to mix another cup. The room became more yellow than blue as the summer morning's light painted the walls around us. I chewed my bottom lip, a bad habit of mine that causes me a terrible need for Chap Stick in the winters, as you know. It's what I do when I don't know what to say, whether I'm nervous or just have no ideas for a conversation, I fill my silence with the distraction of lip chewing; it relaxes me.

Your spoon clanged to the floor with a humming chime, scaring me out of my seat, startled so that I bit down on my lip, cutting the soft skin inside my mouth. I tasted metallic on my tongue, a taste like an old spoon or that stray paperclip one chews in boredom at the office. I poked the wound with the tip of my tongue as you bent down to retrieve the piece of silverware that had caused such a hectic second in our lives. The wound hardly stung and would be gone as fast as it had come, just like that moment and any other in time. A split second can be the difference; the difference between silence and sound, healthy skin and a cut, awake and unconscious, life and death.

"Sorry," you mumbled, finally breaking our voiceless conversation with your smooth voice. You tossed the soiled spoon into the sink and took the overfilled mug of coffee back to your seat beside me. "How’d you sleep?"

I knew you'd ask that question, as you had every morning the past few weeks; I hadn't bothered to ask why you felt the need to ask, we both knew I wasn't sleeping well, but I answered on the contrary.

"Fine." I lied. I avoided looking at you, knowing you could read the pain in my eyes; I hated lying to you, but it was better leaving the truth in silence. That's probably why you hate the quiet so much; you've always had to have some sort of background noise. I have to agree that silence scares me too, because it holds the truth.

As these thoughts ran through my head, you crossed the kitchen and switched on our little countertop radio. The CD I'd put in while doing dishes last night blared from the speakers. You weren't home so I had my own little party with the soap and sponge. The soap was a better dancer. I listened to the words flowing toward me and allowed them to soak through my skin and my hair and fill me with the light of their meaning. This was a very refreshing morning.

You rounded the island counter and took my right hand into your left and placed your own right hand on my waist, lifting me from my seat. We slowly spun around the kitchen a few times and I freed my hand from your grip and placed it on your shoulder with its partner. I rested my head into your neck, breathed in the sweet scent of your skin. Your chin prickled on my cheek and I buried my face deeper into your warmth. I drowned myself in you, let myself slip into you and swim through you in swirls of ecstasy and absolute reverence. We were no longer dancing, just standing, holding each other in a profound innocence that only love can create.

I live for moments like these, and I could live in one if them for the rest of my life, without sleep or food, I wouldn't need any when I felt like that. If only they really could last forever.

♫Say it's true, I'll never ask for anyone but you ♫