remember every little detail of the dream I’d had, not wanting it to slip away. The look of the place, the beautiful light on the other side of the river, the scent of Peter as he had stood close, the gentle curl of his dark hair, his lips, the way he kissed. I didn’t want to forget it. I knew that logically it was silly, but what harm could a fantasy do? I convinced myself it was no big deal. I’d never had dreams like the ones I’d had over the last few days, and what if that was the last one? If it was, then I was not going to forget it, nor any of the dreams I’d had with Peter. I’d keep it like a little treasure.