It stirs in my sleep and forces me awake, too stiff to
ignore, from dreams so vivid I hurt, and still when awake ache to get back to
them, but can’t, the thing that made it all so hard, now far beyond my
imagination to recall, except for fragments, a humpty dumpty memory I lack all
the King’s men and all the King’s horses to restore.
I close my eyes and feel the swell lessen, but it is an
infection for which there is no cure, only temporary reprieve, during wakeful moments,
only to get reinfected again when the dreams come, only to wake again and wish
for a cure I can’t reach, a nightly ritual that resurrects her, a force I cannot
achieve accept in a dream state, never in the waking world, so I continue to
dream, again and again, suffering this unbearable pain I cannot live without,
aching to come to it, to satisfy it, to dream of her over and over again.
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