The morning after you left, I woke up dead.
It felt like there was a gaping hole in my chest and everybody could see how dark my life was without you. And just when I wanted to scream, I fell silent. I was too scared to say the wrong things and make myself break even more. I was too scared to even say your name.
I refused to mourn, and it slowly killed me. And before I knew it, I was more dead than you ever were.
I was nothing but a ghost that danced around our memories, hoping that I could bring them back to life the moment I wake up again.
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The Writer and Her Daydreams
PoetryA prose and poetry collection where dreams transform into something real.