I know he dreams about me too. Not always, of course, but sometimes. Perhaps as he naps on the sofa after playing with their baby. Or while zoning out in front of the television with her just as a Trojan commercial airs and she, with a look that used to really do it for him, asks, "Remember when we used to need those?"
I am the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach...not guilt.
I drift off to sleep every night hoping I'll find him on the other side of consciousness where we aren't wrong, and he'll kiss the back of my neck and talk about nothing, just like he did that early Spring day that never should have happened.
When will I wake up?
No comments:
Post a Comment