I think sometimes we make things up in our head in order to create solace in our waking lives, in what wakes us up in the middle of the night screaming as if reality was obscured into the tiniest and faintest of images we can barely recall once our eyes open. Sometimes we wake up and wish we were asleep again, other times we fall on the cold floor clenching our fist against our chests praying that what was said or done in our dreams is completely fiction and not a manifestation of our worst fears that can sadly always be true. Sometimes I would just sit there, on my bed, back against the wall wondering why that feeling fades even slower than the memory of you. The feeling sticks, like glue, to my hands and to my feet, making it hard to walk, making it hard to say anything with chapped lips and ears that are tired of listening to a subconscious mind that so badly wants to destroy me. Or maybe it’s trying to help me. Maybe a little of both. So i fall back asleep just so i can ask you, is it true, is my unruly subconscious real. were moments between us simply dreams occurring in real life that only looked and felt a certain way to me. Was i the one dreaming while you were simply in reality? Could you touch, mangle and break real things while i swept up the pieces of a love i had only dreamed of? All the while thinking at least these sharp edges held some kind of magic. But my conscious mind knows they were nothing, they meant nothing. And so I wake up angry, or i wake up sad, knowing you wake up happy.