The Living Beating Dream

As I awoke I slowly felt my heart come undone. The pieces I had slowly stitched back together were raw and open. My whole body ached with the memory.

The memory so livid it clung to me like spiders silk. Or the time I got wood stain on my hands and the only thing that got it off was a strange method of rubbing my hands abruptly on the inside of the sink bowl, then rubbing a paper towel forcefully over the spots the stain stuck to over and over again. Yes, my heart was restained with the memory.

I walked up the stairs which seemed a distant reality and landed on the couch. My whole body consumed with the memory so wholly that I couldn’t actually move.

My heart raged like a fire while my eyes were the damn to the tears I refused to give way too. A Love like that should not be revisited. I thought I had tucked it away like a painful childhood memory. One that can’t be found because it’s been tucked beneath layers of a hardened heart.

I sit here still in silence, unable to move. If I move, my raw fragile heart just might come open at the seems. So precariously placed in my body right now that any slight movement will detach it from the fragile cords still holding it in place. I’m barely repaired.

Why a dream like that? Dreams shouldn’t feel so real and dreams shouldnt cling to you once you wake, overwhelming your world with a false memory. Cloaking your reality with the thickness of its fog.

I could smell you, I could taste you. I still can. The desire was so real it falls short of explanation. I remember everything I tried to forget. You hurt me then and you hurt me now. You hurt me in the memory but how I longed for you still. The draw was almost cannibalistic. Undeniably strong, like two magnets at opposite ends of the earth pulling, pulling, pulling and shattering the ends of the earth to collide in the middle. That’s how it was then and that’s how it still remains in my memory.

The sadness that comes with a thought threatens to break open the jar containing all the leftover pieces still barely threaded back together. I sit here and here I remain until the lingering slowly drifts off of me like the sunshine consuming the morning dew. Here I wait, until you pass and life returns to reality and not this horribly beautiful memory.

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