Dreams

I dreamt about her again last night.

It used to bother me, but it doesn't anymore. The only thing I remember about it was taking her into my arms and the sound of her voice as our eyes met. I liked the dream, but that's only because it wasn't real.

See, when I dream about her, I dream about the person I thought she was or wanted her to be. The reality of her is always much more disappointing.

In the dream, her embrace was warm, inviting, not cold and empty like it was all the times we physically held each other. Her voice was soothing and it filled me with a feeling her lackadaisical one could never conjure in the waking world. I could stare into her counterfeit's eyes forever, never even scratching the surface of the secrets hidden deep within. On this plane, however, they were simply hollow.

I've come to grips with the fact that I have to see her every day. The thing is, though, since it's impossible to forget her, I've decided I want to remember her how I always liked her best; the way she is when she comes to me in my dreams.