The Hers

I sit on the edge of the bed trembling from another night of nightmares. Most people dream of getting robbed or falling from high altitudes. Me? I dream of you. And her, all those hers..

It feels as though my soul is being eaten away slowly, by some unseen illness akin to necrotising fasciitis. The tension in my neck, from fighting this unconscious battle will last for hours. I wake to the real thing; which isn’t as crude but basically equals the same rejoinder. 

There is an ache inside my chest. I don’t think the source could be approximated to my physical heart, but it makes all the media references sensible. In the dream this particular woman had your child and your respect… in reality she only has your respect. Yet, I do not have either. So sitting here on the edge of the bed, I want to cry and I guess, a part of me wants you to wake up and comfort me. Knowing full well that your comfort comes at too high of a cost. So, I try my best to shake off the immediate feeling of extreme depression and leave our shared bed where you sleep soundly…nothing new there. For it seems my nightmares are your version of a really good dream. 

As I sit at the window filling my body with nicotine, smoking one, then two. My mind drifts to the day I met you, this has become a tortured pastime of mine… Trying to recall how the past became the present and what about you made me so willingly blinded. 

I never had an ‘easy’ life, and that is not to say woe is me, because I never felt like that, at least not after childhood. Though I did use to wonder at why nothing was ever handed to me like my friends. Why I had to earn every morsel of food and I had to manipulate for every teaspoon of love. But, that was all I knew and therefore all I expected from life when I met you….

I was a dreamer, a hopeless romantic and my hardest critic. I knew I had to be, because in order to survive on the lone path life had chosen for me, I had to always be prepared and ready to be whatever I needed to be. But the dreamer and the hopeless romantic? I blame the PG rated movies and thousands of books my childhood/teen self, used to escape my bleek and at times dark reality. 

–To Be Continued–


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