In my dreams, we're still together. 

Sometimes I wake up with you wrapped loosely around me, or I you. 

Sometimes our legs weave together, because we were perfect like that. Sometimes you're sitting up in bed and looking over your shoulder at me.

However, you never look at me, and I'm so scared every time, a piece of you will just disappear. Your face is either covered by your hair, your face is covered by your arm, something in the distance has your attention. Regardless, I can never get you to look at me. I stroke your long curtain of blonde hair and try to push it away, but more yellow just waterfalls back into place.

They say dreams have meaning that correlate to our waking life. Maybe this is my subconscious telling me I'm not ready to face the truth. Maybe the day I see your face is the day I let you go. 

Some nights the need to see your face is hardly there, so long as I have you, I couldn't care less. I'll stroke a single finger between the scarred curves of your back, feel you shiver under my touch as you always did when I woke you up like that. Wait for you to turn around, grab my hand and kiss it. But in my dreams you grab my hand without turning and pull my arm around you, kissing it while your back is turned to me.

Baby are you there too? Is it you?

Sometimes I have to believe that it's actually you, because the warm wet tears that drop on my hand when you hold my hand like that will only tear me apart further if it's not you. 

If it's you I understand why you wake the dream when I force you to turn around. I force you to look at me sometimes and you yell for me to stop and then it all ends. I wake up in cold sheets, hand outstretched, legs searching, chest empty and heavy. You're not there. 

The next night you're there again. You always forgive me. You were like that in life as well. You always forgave me. Maybe not for everyone, but for me.

So when I told your back last night how sorry I was, and you told me to stop, its hard for me to believe these are all just dreams. But I did this. I caused us this pain. I tore your face from mine. You spoke to me, it was the first you ever spoke directly to me and I couldn't believe how wrong you were. 

But that was us right? 

You were always so wrong, and I was right. 

Last night I clung to your back, my fingers dug in your shoulders, I pressed my forehead to the nape of your neck. Cinders, earth, and smoke is what you always smelt like, a smell that at first turned me away, it smelt like home and the ruin it now was. But then you became home. I told you this, and I told you how much I missed the smell because at that moment I smelled nothing. And I said sorry. 

Sorry I didn't save you. 

Sorry I wasn't enough.

Sorry that I didn't love you enough. 

Sorry I couldn't save you.

Sorry I couldn't change you. 

I'm sorry. 

Your smooth rough night voice cut through the cold air and you simply said, "stop." This time it was so different from the rest, it was so… you. You never liked trouble, strong emotions that got in the way were a hassle. How we ever grew to be more was a fucking miracle. 

But you went on. 

You turned to me, hair covering your face, pointy pale nose poking out of the mess. I couldn't see them, but your bright blue eyes bore into mine, I knew they were. And you said, "stop."  

You moved in closer, nuzzled your face into my neck and kissed my throat. "You're the one good thing left in this world." Your teeth scraped across my skin as you spoke and created small goose bumps where you kissed. "You're one last virtue to this world." Your hands, rough, calloused, but almost real, snaked up my spine into my hair and tugged gently backwards for you to kiss my chin, but you don't, instead you say, "I'm sorry."

And I wake up with my face embedded in the cold pillow, my hands clutching at the blankets for more warmth. I have half a mind to set the whole room ablaze, but I feel your hand on my shoulder and you say "stop."

Someday I'll stop.

Someday I'll stop gasping when I wake up. Someday I'll stop trying to hold my breath when I feel nothing but the cold next to me and it has a tighter hold of my lungs than when your arms wrapped around my body and you kissed me till we were hot. Someday I'll stop searching for your face. Someday I'll be okay.