Last night, I had a dream.

Although it was ephemeral,
like a fleeting light
that disappears before the eyes can hold it.

I saw you, sitting beneath a moonless sky.
The stars seemed more prominent that night.

I could almost identify Orion.

You were holding your jacket tight,
and I was showing you Betelgeuse,
one of the brightest stars in Orion.

I wanted to tell you
that in the never-ending darkness of this world,
you are always my brightest star to look up to.

That winter could never make me feel cold as long as your gaze fell upon me.

The dream was merely the culmination of forgotten memories.

Yet I felt a warmth
I had almost forgotten I could feel.

For a moment, it meant the world to me.

I tried to hold on to those moments,
to keep them from slipping away.

But dreams have their own cruel nature;
they pass through us
with the same fleeting certainty
with which they arrive.

And when morning came,
I was left with nothing
but the memory of having been warm.

Although I can no longer
identify Orion in the night sky,

I feel cold
all the time.