The spectre of you haunts me day by day and dream by dream. Wearing a fake
blonde wig it stalks the landscapes of my mind and haunts me from the corners of
my imagination; standing, staring. Always on the periphery. Always just in sight.
Always with its long fingers imbedded in my brain and conjuring up false idols of you.
I often lie on my bed and imagine you are asleep beside me. You always look so
perfect, sweet and angelic. I want to hold you in my arms but fear I will wake you.
So instead I lay still, listening to you breathe and thinking about what you might be
dreaming as a slight smile plays upon your lips. I stare at your closed eyes and wait
for them to open and let me witness their beauty, their blue expanse covered over
then coming into bloom before the iris recedes having got used to the new day’s
light.
We lay together for hours in the silent summer morning, our breathing the only sound
until
I remember this is a daydream. And then your spectre laughs its callous laugh,
mocking my mind for creating these seemingly real constructions. And Lord how
real they seem. I am always sure I can feel the presence of another person on the
mattress, can feel your body’s warmth… the spectre’s laugh fades and leaves me for
now. Leaves me to wonder why I never tried my key in the lock. Never even tried
once.
blonde wig it stalks the landscapes of my mind and haunts me from the corners of
my imagination; standing, staring. Always on the periphery. Always just in sight.
Always with its long fingers imbedded in my brain and conjuring up false idols of you.
I often lie on my bed and imagine you are asleep beside me. You always look so
perfect, sweet and angelic. I want to hold you in my arms but fear I will wake you.
So instead I lay still, listening to you breathe and thinking about what you might be
dreaming as a slight smile plays upon your lips. I stare at your closed eyes and wait
for them to open and let me witness their beauty, their blue expanse covered over
then coming into bloom before the iris recedes having got used to the new day’s
light.
We lay together for hours in the silent summer morning, our breathing the only sound
until
I remember this is a daydream. And then your spectre laughs its callous laugh,
mocking my mind for creating these seemingly real constructions. And Lord how
real they seem. I am always sure I can feel the presence of another person on the
mattress, can feel your body’s warmth… the spectre’s laugh fades and leaves me for
now. Leaves me to wonder why I never tried my key in the lock. Never even tried
once.
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