You Remind Me

I wonder what she dreams about, if she seizes up like I do in bed at 3AM, or if she has truly forgotten what it means to love someone else. I dream about birth and death, they say I'm a black and white thinker and my dreams can attest. But I never dream about her. Maybe we earn our place in someone's subconscious, sleep as a means to see who truly matters. The folds of my brain accommodate for her lack of love like a whisk mixing a cake together with the forgotten, crucial, ingredient of trust.

There is no reminding her of what it means to enjoy life. I see a skeleton of what could be, the x-ray showing something too broken to fix. I die for her in real life, the way I can't when I'm asleep in bed at night. I hope for her to find happiness and joy, but I only see how her dreams have gone unfulfilled, shattered on the floor. I want to remind her of her humanity, how it glitters in the light. But when is it too late to tell someone something, to say: be honest with yourself? It's hard to say what she dreams of. At 3AM, we're all alone, I hope she finds the courage to make her life her own.