by L.J. Harrell
Sadness, essentially. Sometimes it's too hard to bear waking up in the morning.
|I had a dream once that I wasn't alone. I was dancing with someone I cherished very deeply, it felt nostalgic almost. I remember I pulled them in close and breathed in a smell that was somehow familiar, a scent that you can only recall from your childhood, say, the coffee that your mother brewed in the morning, or that specific laundry detergent that all of your clothes were washed with. I felt safe.
And then I woke up. Never have I felt so alone. It was akin to a feeling of being ripped away from your warm bed to be met with bitter cold.
Reality is what I hope to wake up from sometimes. I dream of waking up from a long coma to be greeted with less solitude and pain.
Escapism is a habit now.