A Letter To Him, From His Bed
A Letter To Him, From His Bed poems stories

wethedreamers And we're a million miles away.
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Dream a little dream of me.

A Letter To Him, From His Bed

This feeling feels transcendent, otherworldly, ethereal. What's strange is that it seems as if it's all reciprocal.

The sluggish, sleepy way you pull me closer; how you wander next to me. Maybe that you love and want me, even subconsciously.

Our skin melds together, melts, like snow upon the rain. The joke has gone on far too long for anyone to feign.

That maybe you were mistaken. That your admiration was misguided. That love, for me, didn't have to be unrequited. One sided.

Is this that? Forgiveness? I never had that for myself. The benefit of the doubt was a gift I never wished, nor held.

And yet, I'm holding you. And I feel how our breathing changes. This is what scribes have been trying to describe in books for centuries. For ages.

Narcoleptic kisses given like a still moment in a storm. You never pull away. You never taste the war.

Is this that? Calmness? Peace? I don't know what to do. My hands have never been steady. My gaze has never been true.

And now I stare at stars that have fallen from the skies. Dropped and plopped and never stopped falling in my eyes.

So when I sleep, how I dream of celestial constellations. I feel galaxies inside of me. I see the scope of patience.

Then I arise and I'm still in the clouds. In your arms, your heart, Your bed. The woman forever exhausted, forever lost, is now found. ...And she rests.

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