To sleep, perchance to dream

I adore sleep.

You don't understand how much I love it:

My big bed.

My fluffy comforter.

My many pillows arranged to surround my body juuuusssst right.

Oh!

And my stuffed animal (don't judge!)

Does it get any better?

As for dreams, well, I don't remember many.

But the ones I do remember stay with me for a long time.

And it really sucks that I mostly remember my nightmares!

Gross!

But this past Saturday,

while I was in the in-between

(you know, the land between wake and sleep)

I had what had to be the most bitter sweet reverie of my life.

I don't remember many of the details,

but I was feeling sad toward the end.

I was in the bathroom,

putting my face on,

when I realized I didn't want to live with this awful feeling.

The only way to get rid of it was to suck it up and call him.

Matt.

Call him and

tell him I'm sorry,

I love him,

what a fool I've been,

to please forgive me.

I remember feeling better with my decision.

I was a woman with a plan of action.
And, seriously, how could he resist me?

Then the wake became more prominent.

The dream mist began to clear.

I remembered I couldn't call him.

I couldn't talk to him.

As I lay there, in that land,

I couldn't help but feel so lost and helpless.

So vulnerable.

I awoke with a tear-soaked pillow.