I can't decide if the nightmares are worse than the pleasant dreams. The nightmares seem appropriate and deserved. The dreams in which we seem happy feel like a betrayal. But the dreams are weighted down by a tangible sadness. Once I realize we're happy in what couldn't possibly be reality, I awaken. Usually weeping. Usually clutching my chest. Typically, I can't sleep again after. Remember when we loved sleeping in? Remember when napping was the gambit I used to get you to kiss me again? I hate sleeping now. I lie in my bed for lengths of time not wanting to sleep but not wanting to stir. It's the happy dreams I try most not to wake from, but it's involuntary. I bury my head in my pillow that smells of you and cry out for those visions of another time to be real again.
The dreams. They are the injurious.
The nightmares are just waking up with bruises. Easy by comparison.
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