The Anatomy of An Aguamala

We were back in the lower common room, just the two of us. It was raining inside, fat crocodile tear raindrops of comical proportions. Each a perfectly shaped tear, almost icicles in form; crashing to the floor unbroken where they gathered like the remnants of a fallen chandelier. He kissed me wildly and we crumpled, limbs intertwined like clumsy rag-dolls. Falling head over heels over hands over feet in love. Taking solstice in the ashen fireplace to avoid the crystallized wetness, I could feel him smiling, feel his mouth part and my lips pull at the gaps in his teeth. He grinned only when he kissed me, only when my eyes were closed and my hands were wrapped so tightly around his neck I couldn’t pull away. I fluttered my eyelashes, mascara clad follicles brushing against his freckled skin. We played cat and mouse with our tongues and our noses were so close I couldn’t see anything past the blush of his cheeks.

I wanted to see him smiling.

I disentangled myself from his arms, realizing I hadn’t been breathing. (Realizing you can’t ever breathe in dreams.) I pulled from my pocket a spool of thread—cadmium yellow like the floss that was holding my sheets together. I was whispering despite the deafening clatter of the rain, somehow he understood.

“I’m going to sew the tears to your cheeks so they can’t be in your heart.”

I cupped his chin in my hands as the faint beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I kissed him, coaxing his lips to warm beneath mine. Slowly, softly. Please smile.

I pulled a sewing needle from my hair where it had held my waves in a precariously perched bun. The knot untangled, hair tumbling over bare shoulders as I began to sew.

His dimples deepened, eyes crinkled, mouth widened, lips parted and…

I woke up.