I dreamt of you today. There wasn't much meaning behind it.
We boarded a spaceship en route to somewhere far from here.
Thousands of us flew together; they held activities and seminars. I was busy, completing tasks, making sure my responsibilities were sorted.

I heard faint music and walked closer, my legs moving without request. The door opened to a hall. In the middle, there was you. Pairs were dancing together, but only you stood alone.
I watched, stunned by your performance. Our eyes met, and I began to run to you. Those eyes weren't filled with joy; they were filled with sadness and loneliness. They were pleading for company.

I reached you, taking hold of your hands, stopping you in your tracks. Looking into your blue eyes, your chin lifted as you looked up at me. I couldn't stop myself—it only felt natural to kiss your forehead and tell you, "I'm here." It only felt natural to dance with you, to be your partner. I've never danced, but in that hall, with you, all the eyes were on us.

We danced together, our chemistry unmatched, smiles on our faces, teeth on display. Your little giggles were the music I danced for. The joy in your eyes—I danced to see more of it.

I dreamt of you today, and when I woke up, I felt as though I'd lost a part of me.