My Least Favourite Life

by HelluvaGirl

The embrace of sleep becomes lukewarm. I twist and turn in my sheets, pushing the awakening further away. Anxiety burns in the solar plexus. Weren't those pills supposed to help? I slowly rewind the moments of last night, trying to remember if there was any drunk texting or shit like that I could feel guilty about. None. I didn't do anything wrong. Was it falling asleep soaked in the rain from within? The fragments of the last conversation with Girlfriend begin to emerge.
Would you settle for boredom? I would. Like you've said, I would cope in my own ways. But I would go back. Not for myself only.
And I remember asking the question again. In my dream. It was in the dream.
Are you ok? With her?
I occasionally ask him this, looking for doubt in the melody of his voice, for his eyes travelling down, making time to pick the right words. But as the answer is always a ready yes, I don't go further. I have no right, not this time. It was just a dream. I didn't do anything wrong. Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmail
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