There are a lot of sad dreams in this world, too many, perhaps. Dalkulla doesn’t mind, though; she collects them, those sad dreams. She wanders through this world, her long striped net trailing behind her. She holds it high, as far above her head as she can, so that she can catch the dreams that people have let go of, the dreams that people have let drift away. Those are the saddest dreams, the ones no one believes in anymore. 

Dalkulla finds comfort in the forgotten dreams of others. She likes to know she’s not the only one who doesn’t feel quite right in her skin; she likes to know she’s not the only one who’s looking for something more. 

When her net becomes full, Dalkulla sifts through the loneliest of the dreams she’s collected and stores them in empty mason jars. Sometimes, maybe after a day, maybe after a year, she finds two dreams that complete each other and pours them into one jar. It makes her think that maybe, just maybe, one day she’ll find a dreamer who completes her too.

They told her not to go into the woods. They told her it wasn’t safe. "The Wolf lives in the woods," they said. But their protests only encouraged her. She wanted the danger the Wolf would bring. She needed it.

At dusk one Autumn evening she headed toward the tree line, toward the wolf. She drew the hood of her red cape to hide her face from the prying eyes of passersby. As she entered the woods, her heart began to race, and a smile small lifted the corners of her mouth. This was what she had been waiting for.

She wandered farther into the woods, not bothering to keep track of where she was. The wind rustled through the dead and dying leaves, lifting her cape away from her. She began to grow cold.

And then, behind her, a twig snapped. She remained where she was, completely still, unmoving, her heart pounding in her ears. Suddenly she felt a hot breath at the exposed part of her neck. Her own breathing sped up. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” the Wolf growled enticingly. “That’s precisely why I came,” she whispered, barely able to make her voice heard, even though the wind had died down. The Wolf chuckled knowingly.

Minutes passed in silence but for the sound of their breathing. The Wolf was calm, but she was excited, intoxicated by his proximity. Finally she turned to face the Wolf. They were so close her skin itched. “Well don’t you just look delicious,” the Wolf grinned. “My, what big teeth you have,” she replied. “All the better to eat you with,” the Wolf said as he licked his lips.

With that she leaned in closer, covering what little space was left between them. Growling again, the Wolf lowered her to the ground. Her red cape was borne away on the wind, and she howled in ecstasy as the Wolf devoured her.

I lose you for a moment 

as you exhale slowly,

smoke rising lazily from your lips

and obscuring your features.

You offer me the cigarette

and I take a long drag,

closing my eyes as

smoke and nicotine and chemicals

seep through me.

I exhale.

My eyelids flutter open

and take in the sight

of you standing beneath the stars.

Your eyes smolder 

as you reach for my hips

and pull me close,

the cigarette still burning

steadily between my fingers.

You don’t speak 

but your kiss speaks for you,

giving me the words that

you don’t quite know how to say,

the words that reside 

on the tip of your tongue.

When you finally pull away

the taste of you lingers,

sharp and sweet and unquestionably

mine.

I bring the dying cigarette back to my lips

but now it tastes like your kiss,

so I inhale slowly

and breathe you into me.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“I sent you a letter. Did you get it?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Are you sure? I put it in a bottle and threw it out to sea. It should have reached you by now.”

“I live in Colorado. The sea doesn’t reach this far.”

“I knew I should have used a carrier pigeon.”