real

That was a terrible idea.

I'd been dreaming about her for weeks. I don't even know why--she was never anyone special to me. I didn't really even know her. We'd had coffee once or twice, sort of on accident, and for a while I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Then I moved on, because obsessions always end, and mostly forgot for months and months. Then the dreams started again and I couldn't figure out why. They were never nice dreams. She was crying and there was nothing I could do, or I'd say hello and she'd start swearing at me, telling me to go away. Sometimes they were long, intricate dreams where everything was falling apart, slowly but faster than I'd like.

I didn't expect to run into her the other day. I was outside with a cigarette and she came out to smoke, and she looked at me like she maybe recognized me but wasn't actually sure. I wasn't sure if it was real--I'm still not--but I started talking to her anyway.

It didn't go like it did in the dreams. The sense of everything collapsing was still there, but nothing actually did. It was a completely normal, unremarkable conversation, and it made me terrified. So when I said "hey, we should go get coffee sometime," and she actually gave me her number, I could think of nothing else to do but flee.

Now I've still got this scrap of paper with ten numbers written on it, and her name. It's in handwriting that looks like mine.