Some mornings I wake up and think the last 2 weeks have been a dream.
A story in a book somewhere.
And I pray that they’re not a dream,
Something that in the morning will dissipate and fade away.
But a book
A book I can handle.
A book that I can rewrite the end.
Rewrite it and put you and I together.
Rewrite it so it doesn’t end so painfully.
Rewrite it so I don’t get plagued by the nightmares
When I’m asleep and when I’m awake.
Some mornings I wake up and think
These last 2 weeks cannot have happened.
Because I went from perfect bliss
To the deepest of the pits.
But they did happen.
They weren’t a dream
You were real.
They weren’t a book
It ended and now I’m here.