In my dream I was standing as tall as the lilies beside me, squinting into the bay window of my first girlfriend’s parent’s house. She was yanking books from the shelf across the living room and forcefully pointing at font size 12 printed words. I shook my head after every vehement poke and the pile of uncommunicative novels was up to her belly button and the reflection of the orange and pink sunrise was blocking her almost entirely so I stopped shaking my head. I turned to lean against the window and felt the books thump against my glass back with the same rhythmic urgency. Instead of facing the sunrise I was expecting, the sun was dropping behind the house across the street and the barren fingers of a hibernating tree scraped against a cloudy dark purple sky. Using hard covers and soft covers she told me in Morse code to go fuck myself.
