Last night, I slipped beneath the surface

Into the quiet abyss of my subconscious,

A world where anything can be

And the weight of reality cannot reach me.

It is a place of fragile beauty,

Distant and untouched,

A world where you are still mine—

Where time folds in on itself,

And we are forever young,

Unbroken by the cruelty of endings.

You appeared like a breath of spring,

Your face glowing, eyes sparkling with life.

Running toward me with that smile

That once lit up my darkest nights.

I reached for you, arms wide,

But you unraveled in my grasp—

A wisp of mist,

A morning frost kissed away by the sun.

Then came the dawn — the reaper of dreams,

And as it’s cruel fingers pride open my eyes,

I reached for you— a habit of my slumber,

Only to clutch at the emptiness

That whispers of what once was.

In dreams, you are a masterpiece,

Painted in colors so vivid,

I feel my love etched in every brushstroke,

Raw, aching, alive.

But as the sun rises,

That world burns to ash,

Leaving only the memory

To carve its name in my chest.

Now I lie here, hollow and still,

Staring at the ghost of your presence

On the other side of the bed.

The crumpled sheets still smell like you.

The world outside streaks by,

A carousel of blurred, indifferent colors,

But I remain trapped—

Suspended in a moment

Where you are gone,

And I am left behind.

I dream of another existence,

Another plane of time and space,

Where the universe reweaves itself

And places you back in my arms.

What would I give?—

Everything.

Anything.

For now, I dissolve into the silence,

An echo of who I was before you.

The birds rise, the morning presses on,

And the light, so merciless, bears witness

As I splinter like glass,

Shards of myself scattered

In the absence of you.