To you;

I would sleep forever if it meant I could spend all my dreams with you.

Usually my dreams of you are nightmarish.
The flourescent lights, the cold steel, the rip from my body.
Over and over and over again,
an endless loop of what I won't will myself to forget.
And I'm told I weep through my sleep sometimes,
the surreal pain spilling into reality.
But last night I met you.
On the day I would have met you, you came to me in a dream.

I was wholly enamored the moment I saw you,
more real and perfect than anything I've yet imagined.
I willed myself to memorize every inch of your face,
I drank in your presence like a woman parched and broken.
And when I reached out to brush your cheek,
to finally know the feeling of your skin,
to finally know what I should know,
what I wish I did know,
you smiled at me.

And in an instant,
you were pulled away.
And I couldn't bare the emptiness of my body,
as if someone had stolen my purpose, my sense of direction.

A reminder of what I feel like in my waking days without you.