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Quickly writing down a dream I had before it deletes from my brain:
Your hand is covered in blood as it softly touches mine. Whose blood is this? The tip of my pointer fingers brushes you, tears welt into my tired eyes. I peer up to your eyes, and a sad, but warm and comforting smile greets me. Your gaze glances down again. There is blood now on the tip of my pointer finger. You look up to me panicked and guilted, you didn't mean to wipe some of the blood you spilt on me. Instinctively, it seems, you rush to wipe my hands clean, as more blood is smeared on to my once clean hands. You're beginning to panic and shutter more, before I clap both hands down upon yours. "stop it" escapes softly from my lips, cracking through the resistance of tears. The blood smears and spreads, until our hands are of equal filth, spreading throughout our bodies, as it paints our entire skin a deep dark read.