The first week of February I had a dream where I was romantically cuddled up with a friend of mine that I have never considered dating. We were in a small bed and I kept accidentally getting pushed onto the floor, which I later joked on Twitter was my brain trying to forcibly eject me from a dream that, while lovely, was ultimately incorrect because while he’s a nice person, I just don’t feel that way about him.

Last year I wrote a blog post about finally feeling like I wanted to date again, a couple of years after my last relationship ended. This was mere weeks before the pandemic locked everything down and now I can’t imagine when I’ll be able to have a go at it because I just don’t trust anyone to be fully honest about how covid-safe they’re being. I mean, I have coworkers who claim they’re being careful and then post photos on Facebook of them doing things like indoor dining. Besides, where can we go on dates anyway considering outdoor spaces are crowded with people who are also trying to get a break from the confines of their homes?

I went from getting hugs from my friends on a regular basis pre-pandemic to more or less nada apart from rare hugs from my mom or my brother. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of scientific studies done about how hugs and other forms of touch do positive things for the human body and mind, and not being able to give my friends hugs while we’ve all been struggling has been hard on me. I’m so touch starved it’s no wonder I dreamed about snuggling up with somebody that I consider friendly and trustworthy. Each time I was pushed off the bed in the dream I would pull myself back on, as if my deepest unconscious was begging for someone, anyone, to hold me despite my logical mind trying to shove me back into reality.

Honestly, I really do feel like cuddling is largely underrated in relationships that have a sexual component. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the things that happen when clothes come off, but that isn’t what I miss the most about being in a relationship. It’s the soft warmth of laying my head on someone’s chest and hearing a steady heartbeat, the soothing sound of relaxed breathing as we lay with our legs entwined, the simple grace of arms draped around waists to hold each other close, fingers occasionally comfortingly caressing a back or a shoulder. Those cozy velvety moments are colored reddish gold in my mind, like late afternoon sunshine or the light thrown by a fireplace. Time is warped, simultaneously deliciously abundant in the moment and dreadfully lacking when it is over.

As I slowly gained consciousness after the dream I could still feel the ghost of a stubble covered face nuzzling my shoulder. I opened my eyes to the other side of my bed, empty except for the pillows I hug when I sleep. The dream had felt extremely real, and although it was about the wrong person waking up alone still felt very lonely. Disconcerted, I rolled over onto my other side in an attempt to shake it off, in an attempt to prevent myself from falling right back into the same impossible dream as I drifted off again.