From the author: Mysterious still shots of your dreams have always appeared in your phone the next morning. And it’s always been wonderful—until you start having nightmares.
I bring back photos of my dreams--a crumbling well, a four-winged bird, a city made of glass. I find them in my phone the next morning. It's always been this way.
You were the only person I told. I remember that Sunday afternoon, when you scrolled through your pictures and showed me your friends. My heart was a chambered round. It was coming. But that's how I knew you were the one: when I showed you the photos of the red-sand beach, where people tall as houses and slender as storks play their games with sticks and dice, you only sighed and whispered, Show me more.
After our final winter together, I buried my secret with you. It's not that I don't want to tell anyone else, but you must understand. There are certain risks that come with baring the heart. Nobody can look at my photos now, not even me.
I only dream of how you died.
This story originally appeared in Daily Science Fiction.