Daydreaming

Six and a half hours later and I wake with my phone affixed to my cheek.
"Mmmmm, don't go-" Opening my eyes I immediately squeeze them shut again and desperately try to return to the beautiful dream.  But now, my pillow stubbornly remains a pillow and the curly brown locks have been replaced with the cold grey of my laptop.
"Damn."  No pretending now, so I slide out of bed and throw the blue robe over my shorts.  It's an optimistic gesture for this town in the dead of winter, my toes curl against the cold linoleum.  The tea is better made on the stove but instead I slide the mug into the microwave and stand hugging myself for two minutes, until the too-cheerful DING!  Sitting at the table, I can no longer stop my thoughts from wandering.
"Wake up.  Wake up wake up wake up, you must be dreaming. There is no way that someone would care this much for you, for you who has heard for years that you don't deserve true tenderness."  And yet... this newly found independence has been invigorating.  Three weeks since my last crying fit, longer since the last time I couldn't breath-making daring decisions and remembering not to ask permission. 
I am remembering myself, I suppose.  And no, I can't give myself away again just yet-but somehow I think I might have already begun without even realizing. 
Outside the sleet is making the drive into a sheet of ice, but the tea is warming my fingers and my phone happily buzzes. 
I can't help but to smile.  I have a world to discover; dinners and hockey games and long walks to the fairgrounds.  There are hikes and inside jokes and strong arms that want to hold me tight.  And I have myself to fall in love with again. 
The sleet falls and my bed is seducing me back into it's warm depths; it really is a lovely day in this tiny town.