I had a dream you were on the top of a hill

I had a dream that you were on the top of a hill, gazing at the sunrise over an iced over valley. I could see my breath dance up towards you as my feet were anchored to the solid ground.

There was only a moment of hesitation, where I questioned if I could join you, only a moment, where my heart raced and plummeted at the same time. In this dream, my legs didn't feel like illegally parked car tires, weighted and stuck, impossible to lift. My lungs expanded and refused to collapse upon exhale, while my spine grew straighter, rising towards the sun. There was a glow around your body that faded from orange to pink, to a soft white, that dulled the outline of your figure and your usual glare. You looked at me like I've never been more beautiful, walking up the hill with unexpected ease. I felt it; I felt strong, I felt beautiful, I felt worthy, I felt you for the first time in a long time. But this was a dream. In reality, the truth is that I can barely walk up your front stairs, and I think you've forgotten how to look at me like that, and it doesn't snow in San Francisco.