Curled up on the sofa together, in our dreams we throw paper planes that shoot through the air before being lifted up into the sky by a gust of wind. They vanish into the clouds never to be seen again, but warm and in each other’s arms, it doesn’t seem to matter. The heating is broke. Something to do with the boiler. Boilers aren’t my speciality, though, so I hold you close and grind against you while you picture us someplace exotic. There are two cushions beneath your head, and your fingernails are painted black. On TV, there’s a weather program followed by a phone-in quiz show, but the sound’s off so I can’t hear the questions. You’re still fast asleep, but I’m up, and I can’t come down. Wrapping the blanket around us good and proper, I sniff your hair and chew it while trying to guess what the blonde woman on TV is talking about. There’s a photo of those pyramid things in Mexico, but I can’t remember what they’re called. Trying to figure it out, you roll over in my arms and open your eyes. Looking straight at me, you see me but you’re still asleep, and in those eyes of yours, I see autumn and loss and tiny animals afraid of the hand of man. Counting the freckles on your cheeks and across the bridge of your nose, I cup you and tell you my secrets, but all you do is sigh and close your eyes again. At one point you kiss me and bury your head beneath my chin. You’re still my girl, y’know. You still own my heart, but just where am I? As you chase those paper planes with a grin on your face on a beach straight out of your childhood, where am I?