a tiny tangle of crimson cotton

When I woke up this morning, my mind empty from slumber like a deep and flat dark pool inhabiting a silent cave, thoughts and feelings appeared on the shady ceiling and, one by one, slowly sprinkled into the icy water.

The first drop brought tiny ripples of black fluid into being which started to hurry away into the blackness. “Oh how wonderful!” came to my mind, accompanied by a feeling of delight and joy, followed by surprise that I suddenly felt so parted, and by a sense of yearning.
What was happening?

“I must be awake now”, I thought by myself, and grief and the sensation of loneliness started to overwhelm the slowly dissolving serenity induced by my wonderful dream.

Exhaustion and weariness lay heavily on my closed lids, and I felt uncomfortably warm and trapped in my bed. A split of a second later I realized I was still fully dressed, wearing a sweater and trousers, even socks, and started to search for reasons and memories, started to dig deeper, shocked after a few moments to find none at all.
What had really happened last night?

Startled, my eyes opened in order to search the room for answers, and I noticed that something unfamiliar – and yet strangely close and intimate – was asleep in my room, was in fact sleeping on me, on my black sweater: a tiny tangle of crimson cotton, resting peacefully on my chest.

A tiny tangle of crimson cotton of a crimson sweater.
A tiny tangle of crimson cotton of her crimson sweater.

And all of a sudden I knew three things:
I had not been asleep at all last night; my dream had been reality; and the last few seconds of reality had been the worst daydream ever: that it had all been just a dream.

Hours have passed.
I have not yet dared to move – afraid to wake it up, terrified to wake up.