The afternoon stretched out,
    long as a road that refused to end.

Curtains breathed in and out,
         the room itself alive.

I dreamed us somewhere softer—
      a hotel where the walls
           forgot to be walls,
   where room service arrived
              without a knock,
    trays carrying the things
       we never said out loud.

We ate slowly,
   laughed at nothing,
   let the hours fold
   one inside the other
   until it was both daylight and dark,
   both beginning and nearly gone.

Your head found my shoulder,
        and that was enough.

In that dream,
   we could have stayed… forever.

Then the picture cleared—
     Sylvan was only Sylvan again.

A quiet room,
  two people,
  food gone cold.

But the dream stayed on,
    tucked between us,
    proof even ordinary days

    can bend toward forever.