Stoned

It was grey outside. A misty rain left a chill in the air while the setting sun ignited the cloudy sky. Your face towers over me, I recalled your clothes, the same as the day you wore them. I don't think I was wearing the same thing, not that it mattered. You were so very clear to me, so vivid, I thought perhaps this was a memory and not a dream. I thought, maybe it was something I had forgotten. Your mannerisms were so well matched, I pondered it for far too long. I had a deep, dark purple amethyst, a large hunk the size of my palm, in my right hand. It was flat on one side, angled to the right, in a steep fashion with smooth edges, no white, no cloudiness. I could see through it. I pushed it up to your forehead and you ducked away, characteristically. I said, "Wait." You put your head back and realized that I was being gentle, so you allowed me to pursue your face. I turned the stone to the side, the smoothest and flattest pressing towards your crinkled brows. When it hit your skin, I woke up. A cold spot felt on my own third eye sent a chill down my forearms.