Dream, she says

And when I wake, you’re not here.

 

Ice softens outside the window, my eyes forced open to the grey,

Sky, white sheets,

Framed in gold-brown pine.

And the grey shades to gold, and the ice drips

And you’re not here.

 

I close my eyes, desperation-driven to go back again,

I scrabble against the white,

Snow melts,

There’s nothing to grip,

And if it won’t be held,

I seek the void again.

 

Blackness is kind, a little death each night,

Inspired by hope,

(I will not hope, I cannot hope).

I close my eyes and somewhere I hope,

In sleep,

I will no longer be alone.

 

Hope much betrayed.

Night after night.

Sleep drags me from the day,

                And I go willingly.

 

One night I swallowed small white discs,

Promise of sleep easy earned,

But what is sleep without dreams?

 

And what are dreams when you don’t show?

Night.

Night.

Night.

Night.

Night.

And in unexpected sunlight,

The ice is melting.

Drops that fall in snow,

You were here, I know. 

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