Daydreaming

I’m sitting in the ceramics studio, and I cant help but mentally whimper a bit. Today is my last day to work in the studio with wet clay. This sucks. I wish I would have had more time this semester to come in and make things. 

More than that, I wish I lived in a old brick apartment. Brick surrounding everywhere, and built into the wall in the living room there would be tall wooden bookshelves.  I always daydream about a kitchen with a window in front of the sink where I can stand and wash dishes with my hair pulled up in a mess, a few strands falling around my face.  I want Dalton standing behind me holding my waist while I hand wash the dishes, music flowing in the background, the both of us swaying side to side. After some time, he might grin out of the side of his mouth like he always does, and begin to tickle me. I can see myself scooping up a handful of soap suds and smushing it on his cheek. At first he looks alarmed, but it quickly fades. I notice his eyebrows fall together into a stern line. I scan his face in what feels like a slow manner, even though I know it mustn’t have been but a second or two it feels like time slows, and now I’ve found his eyes, slightly squinted and stern. Reflexively my heart jumps; I know I’m in trouble. He reaches up quickly, wipes the suds off of his face and scrapes them off into the sink. I’m looking for a way to squirm out of his arms, now braced onto the counter, barricading me in and I can find no escape. My eyes widen as I look up at him. He leans in and speaks roughly from the bottom of his throat, “Where do you think you’re going?” My breath hitches and with that he scoops me up and I begin squealing, my arms and legs flailing in the air.