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As I slept, you covered my face with your hand and woke me from a dream of swimming in the ocean, but I kept my eyes shut tight and pretended to continue sleeping and dreaming. I wasn’t sure of your intentions. How can one ever be sure? The palm of your hand smelled of the ocean, the sky, the dusk and the dawn, all rolled into one. Only then did I comprehend the immensity of your hand and its depth and breadth and weight. Though I could not easily breathe and thought myself foolish for prolonging this charade, I wanted you to think I had no fear of you and your hand. And so as not to stop whatever you were doing, I continued pretending to sleep and dreaming of the ocean until the world, once again, went away.
Salvatore Difalco is the author of five books, including The Mountie at Niagara Falls (Anvil Press, 2010), a collection of micro fiction.
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