In the dreams, your hair is long and silky. Sometimes I wonder if it would feel like my sister's hair, when I used to brush it for her. I find out at some point that it is not. My sister's hair is willowy, soft and flyaway, almost like feathers. Yours is like horse hair, so dark and thick that I could get lost in it, or hold onto it for dear life.

On your forehead is a red mark, and sometimes I catch myself looking at it, wondering why it's there, and what it means, and how important it is to who you are. This is of course before, and after I know what it is, and how much you hate it. But it's an important part of who you are, all the anguish and pain and abandonment. You are you, and I wouldn't change that.

When first we meet in the dreams, we are not so different in size. We are both young, and there is growing to be done, but I pass you quickly. When next we meet, you are smaller than I, and you never catch up. In fact, you don't grow much at all. My clock seems to run much faster than yours, or perhaps you have no clock at all. I know this will cause you pain, but again it's part of who you are. You will handle that burden in your own way.

Your eyes are sharp and calculating, as is your voice. When you speak, your voice is cutting, and harsh, and people listen, though they usually don't like what you say. Despite that, you hang on my words, and you are an expert at listening, and noticing and seeing. Everyone acknowledges you in some way, but they never give you enough credit, I included.

The you in my waking hours is very different, but it's still you. I am sure of it. Your hair is still black, and it still hangs off of you like silk, but it's short in the back, and long in the front. I find myself wondering why you cut it, but then I remember that the two versions of you are not the same. Still, I imagine it long. I like it short too, but my first image of you was with long hair, it's hard to ignore that.

There is no mark on your forehead that I can see, until one day when the wind is strange. It's strange, because usually, the wind leaves you alone. Even if it's windy all day, the moment you step outside, it settles. It makes me think about how in the dreams you make the wind rage, and now you calm it. But this day is different, because we have a close call. I almost get hit by a bus, but you should out my name, and pull me back in time. And in that brief second, where your hand is around mine and I am flying out of the way and into you, I catch a glimpse of red, as your thick bangs billow in wind that has only just started to exist. I should be relieved I'm not dead or mauled, but instead I wonder if you've been hiding it this whole time. Is it because you don't like it, or is it because people don't have marks like that here? I don't know, and I never ask. You are far too worried about me, and for the first time I can see you visibly shaken. I hold your hand all the way home, and you don't protest even once. You don't even seem to have the energy to chide me for not paying attention. You just hold on, almost desperately.

The first time we meet, and I am not sleeping, you are taller than I am. You're willowy, with long limbs and slim shoulders. It takes me a while before I'm taller than you are, long after school has ended for both of us. Even still, I'm not much taller than you. I think we match, but I can't help thinking about how the you in my dreams fit so wonderfully in my arms, how I could pick you up when you were injured, and carry you. I think I can still do that, if I had to, but it would be harder. This you isn't so small, though maybe every version of you is slim. Even if I remember the dream fondly, I like this one too. It feels like we match more, and we aren't so odd next to one another. Not that I ever thought we were odd before, but it's nice that you look my age. That's nice.

The you in the dreams has a temper, and gets irritated at people for not knowing things, at their naïveté. I know it's because you care. I don't think anyone else realizes this. They make jokes about you that I don't understand, because they've got you all wrong. Both of you know what your priorities are. You know what is important, and you fight for that, even if you know the consequences. You're smart, and you can always make the hard decisions that I can't.

The you now, doesn't have as strong a temper. I've only seen it a few times, but that is not strange. With me, no matter when or where, you're rarely short tempered, and only when I've done something incredibly stupid. Which I do, from time to time. For me, you've always listened, and explained, and respected my decisions, even if you thought they were wrong. In the dreams, you'd always tell me that you knew ahead of time what I would do, and that even if it's a bad idea, I should know the consequences, and that you'll follow me. I think in that dream, in that life, in that reality, I was always very lucky that your predictions didn't come true. Or perhaps it was always you, making sure that even if I chose a poor path, that it worked out as I wanted it to.

The you now, doesn't spend time with many other people. You've met my sister, and you tolerate my friends, but really, you only spend time with me. I think this is bad for you, because I have many friends, and I think that you don't like most of them, but you never say anything bad about it. You simply accept who I am without protest. I do the same for you.

You are smart in both dream and waking. The you that I dream of, leaves for months and months to study, because we don't have the kind of books that make you smart. I often wonder what you're doing, and what you're learning, when I turn around and you aren't there. In this world, you always have a book in your hand, and it is never the same book. You seem to ingest them like I eat meat, which is to say, several times a day, and in great volume. Sometimes, when I don't have other plans, I go to your house, and play video games, while you curl up on the couch with a stack of books. I think we could spend the whole day in a library, if I had the attention span for it. I'm sad to say that I don't. At the beginning of every semester, you have each text book only one day, and then never again. If we need it in class, you use mine. But you know everything in it, and you tell me often that they are wrong. You even correct the teachers when they are wrong. These are some of the only times where you show that temper that is so prevalent in the dream wars when lives are on the line. Even now, you can't stand for someone to think they're right when they're wrong. The teachers either love you, or hate you, but you pass every class without much effort, and help me when I ask. You really should be taking advanced classes, but when I ask about it, you simply say there is no need. I believe you.

Something both of you share, is that you don't change like normal people do. You are small in the dream, and you remain small in the dream. You are taller in waking, and you remain as you are. Your hair grows, and you gain and lose weight, but the youth in your face doesn't change. In fact, your weight fluctuates with the seasons. In winter, you gain weight, and in summer, you lose it. You don't think I've noticed, but you're a calorie counter. You pay close attention to what you eat, though food seems to give you no pleasure. I think it's because you don't change. I think you need everyone to think you do, so you gain, and lose weight on purpose, to make them think that you do. You don't, it's an act.

After five years of being in my life, you tell me that you are leaving. You look sad when you say it. It's because you don't change, and people have started to notice. I know that. But I don't want to tell you that I think you're a half dragon time traveling wind wizard. Cause that would be strange, if you aren't. Instead, I tell you that I'll go with you. You're surprised, but you're more surprised when I lean over and kiss you for the first time. Maybe I'm a coward for waiting, because I've know for a very long time how strong your loyalty is, even when mine wasn't. I've known it longer than I knew you, which shouldn't make any sense, but it does. Five years isn't long enough for you to have waited so long.

You're still surprised when I pull away, but you reach for my hand and you don't let go. You tell me that I don't have any idea what I'm getting into. That might be true, but it doesn't matter. If I'm right, this will be another small ripple in the long span of your life, and I want to make it something you'll remember fondly. If I'm wrong, let's grow old together.

I hope I'm wrong.