Dreams

You know those movies where the main character is in some desolate state and falls to the ground, hits their head, and finds themself in a dreamlike sequence?

Last night, I momentarily imagined--or dreamt--that I was laying next to you in bed, unclothed, and feeling all sorts of complacency. You were deep asleep, with your mouth agape as I remember the way it looks, breathing in and out while so very unaware of my presence next to you. I burrowed my head further underneath your arm and placed a feathery light kiss by the side of your bosom and proceeded to imagine myself asleep next to you, knowing full well that the delight of being by your side in this state would keep me awake for who knows how long.

And when my mind returned to reality, with all the feelings of loneliness haunted with morbid despair, I curled up to make a tighter ball with my body and stared emptily into the void that occupies my bedside.

I hate these dreams of glittering delusions of love fulfilled or sweet satisfaction procured. I am tired of wanting your company, craving your physical being, and of wishing nothing more than to simply exist by your side.

There is nothing worse than false hope and expectations, but nothing crueler than the dreams your mind conjures when you find little solace in the things your life are built upon now.