It sounds worse than it is

I dream about my ex. Often. Last night we were at a breakfast place together and I was jealous as usual  and we went on long walks like we did in the very beginning of things when we didn't have anywhere we needed to be. 

And we kept cresting hilltops and the views were expansive and it reminded me of all of the things I used to see. The things I believed were possible. He had a disposable camera that only took flattering pictures that I knew I would never see. 

Then we were at a bus stop at an intersection with three streets instead of two. We had seven pounds of sugar that I insisted on carrying while he tried to hail a bus back to the diner and a concert on the grass and I woke up longing, longing, longing. 

And when real life hit me it was not like being doused with cold water. It was a large, cool, soft hand on the side of my face. Checking for fever. My grandmother. She was reminding me I better not stay too long. The robots need to learn to stop murdering us. The sunflowers need water.