I try to make myself feel alright, but it leaves me feeling empty. I’m full of holes I fill with faded visions and imaginary conversations; the things that come to haunt me in the short hours between one day and the next.
I think I’m awake, but I’m stuck in a dream. The same sequence over and over again.
You were there for a while. We were on a bus. Then it stopped in the middle of the road and everyone was told to get off. My feet wouldn’t move fast enough. There was smoke and I lost you somewhere in the crowd.
Then everything dissolved.
Someone’s at the door. Has the darkness finally found me? I wake up in sweat and get out of bed.
The bell. The door. The stairwell.
I move through dark hallways. I never should have let you out of my sight. The light goes out and I wake up again, thinking I can’t breathe.
Morning creeps in, but the night’s not quite gone. I hear someone typing. Or is it the rain tapping on my window? Scared to move now, I choose to watch the story as if I’m not in it. As if my life is happening beside me. As if somebody else is living it.
Then nothing feels real.
Nothing is real.
My thoughts are not real.
I am not real.