July 26

I cannot accept Morpheus’s offer, for sweet dreams
are only for the unburdened. Those happy idiots

who know nothing of love and so can close their eyes
and imagine worlds shaded in color.

I’m sure you’re sleeping, and I’m only angry at myself
for lying awake in this black and white

world feeling the heaviness of you in the air
I breathe. If I had the strength I could shut myself

away from the shadows that surround me,
for each one bears your likeness and mocks me

from its corner with sweet words torn from
haunted conversations that involuntarily replay

in my mind. I long to sweep them away like cobwebs,
brush the silky strands away from my face

but I know if I reached out, they would simply recede
into the cold. No, I’m too tired for the fight

and too weary of the dreams that take me nowhere
but back, so I lie here, awake, wishing the night

would bury the dead.

Why does nighttime bring out the desire to over think? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve lay awake pondering things that somehow, with the setting of the sun, became insurmountable issues. And I know I’m not the only one. My friends often complain about the same thing. But I’ve gotten better as I’ve become older about recognizing that my nocturnal obsessions may seem a lot more manageable in the morning. History as proven that to be the case quite often. Sometimes not, especially when the heart is involved. Yet, as painful as it has been and sometimes still is, I’ll always be thankful for a chance at love. I hope I’m never at the point of completely giving up.

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