Last night I dreamt about my first time. He was a stranger, but he loved me with his entire being. We met at a beach, around midday. I was eating a red apple and listening to The Smiths. His eyes were brown, matched his hair. He sat beside me, and smiled.
I woke up in his arms, he kissed my forehead and asked how I was; I said I was fine.
I went to the bathroom, saw my blood stained underwear. I smiled; finally, somebody loved my body. Cherished it, caressed it, and didn’t leave me for dead.
I lied down beside him again; it was silent for a long period of time. He kissed me softly on the lips and whispered something I couldn’t quite understand.
I woke up, dissatisfied.
I don’t have anyone that loves me, and I don’t like red apples. *sigh*