I refused to return her doubts with a piece of mine. Instead, I lingered beneath all the could-have-been, would-have-been, will-be. I supposed it didn't matter. I supposed I was in my dreams, after all.

I allowed myself to fall into the warm fuzziness of the idea; the warm fuzziness of the supposed future�I had left it behind along with the night, along with the vague memory of her, and the vague memory of you within her.

Sometimes at times like this time, when this memory visits, I would think not of you, but of her. Somewhere in this dump of a mind, I will try to retrace the contours of her face; match her voice with those already in my head, so I can find someone�anyone�to remind me of her.

And then I would say to her, no. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but no.

It was nice of you to ask, but no.

I wish I could give you an answer I am sure of myself, but no.

I hope it had been�still is�true, but no.

The vague memory that spun from a night of deep sleep crossed over to this reality, but no.