This morning, I awoke from a dream in which Iain had left me. I'm not remotely fearful in my conscious mind that Iain will leave, and I've never had dreams in previous relationships about lovers leaving, but I occasionally have them now. Maybe it's a sign that I'm finally with someone I really want to stay; maybe it's a sign that I'm becoming more aware of our mortality; maybe a Freudian would tell me it's about unresolved Daddy issues; who the fuck knows?
In any case, as Iain was getting ready to leave for the train, I rolled over and peered at him through the grey morning light. "I had a terrible dream that you left me," I told him.
"I'm not leaving you," he said, matter-of-factly. He twisted a cufflink through his cuff then looked up at me and grinned.
"I hope not," I laughed.
As is his habit before he leaves in the morning, he came to me and kissed me on the forehead. "Hope is for Obama," he sniffed. "I'm all about certainty."
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