Love is a dream. Feelings seem superhuman. Your ‘other half’ is miraculously god-like. And everything is pink, fuzzy and rejoicing at the both of you being together. Furthermore, you are different. Optimistic. Smiley. Bouncing around on clouds that whizz around you in puffy heart shapes. Then you hear the next door neighbours drill. Or a car backfire. Or an overbearing sibling, ‘Yeah, mate, pub 1 o’clock, bring your drinking liver.’ You’re blasted out of the dream before you can say 2 point 4 children and a white picket fence. The outside ‘no duvets allowed’ world is rainy and cold. People don’t look at you like you belong with Zeus and that your smile is perfect to warm this winter’s day. They don’t look at you at all. You’re just another person on this planet getting out of bed. Leaving the dreams behind and stumbling down the stairs, briefly child-like again, learning how to use your legs. Stumbling. Wiping your hand across your eyes to clear the misty waters and sleep that has gathered. Almost as if it had bound your eyes shut for you to enjoy the dream for as long as possible. Awake. Aware. The dream is gone. You’ve moved on. From the dream. From him. You’re learning how to walk again, albeit with help from the bannister. Brushing the endless pink fluffy clouds from your sleepy eyelids. You have learnt that a dream is unnatural and that this is life. Cold, dark and unsmiling. 

You reach the end of your descent. There is a noise in the kitchen. There he is. Making breakfast. Your latest favourite. Poached eggs on toast. The kettle is boiling and he has the radio on. He is here. Outside the dreamworld. 

You walk up behind him. Put your hands on his shoulders. Yep, still real. You slide them down his arms and join them together on his chest. You are on tiptoes to meet his height. He is still, acknowledging your embrace and his hands find yours in their return of the ‘Hey you’. 

Online you have seen that other couples, your friends, have been out for brunch at a well-known, hard-to-get-reservations London restaurant. You have spent the morning in bed, coffee, book, music, lounging in each other’s company. It is already noon. Your brunch will be the eggs that cook in the pan.  This is the dream.

The mundane activities aren’t mundane anymore. Shopping for socks and people watching from the food court. Making the bed because you have forgotten when it was last changed. Talking about your ideas for the next piece of DIY. Watering the garden to nurture what you have sown and grown. The pink clouds are gone from the dreamworld, they have left behind the very real white clouds that you both trace across the sky while you plan your next adventure. Warm, light and full of life.