I just woke up. It's your birthday today. I had a nightmare about you.
there were no monsters, you were not yelling at me. it was not a scary dream, yet it was still a nightmare.  
we were taking a walk. it was warm outside, i could hear birds, the wind, the sun made my cheeks warm. the afternoon light was making your hair glow, a soft halo around your body. we walked hand in hand, we made small talk, you rubbed your thumb over mine over and over. your laugh echoed and rang in my ears like a church bell. you hadn't left. it was a nightmare.
I just woke up. I'm in my new partners bed. You're probably in hers. His sheets wrapped around me feel safe, as do his arms. I jolted awake a few minutes ago, he noticed. I was pulled in tighter. A hand ran down my back and upper thigh. I am happy here.
I had a nightmare about you last night. Our laughter, our love, our old life. The yelling, the screaming, the fighting, the giggling, the secrets, the breakfast in our city apartment, the homemade coffee brought to me in our bed, the familiarity of it all. I wish a dreamt about a monster.

Monday nights too my mother sat alone
and put her head in her hands,
then wilted like a fall flower
from the stress of life made her decay,
No one ever asked if she was alright.

I'd wake to empty call for love, warmth.
When the room was cold, she would wither,
and slowly I would join her to sit,
Letting her spill the chronic sadness she felt,

Speaking softly to her,
I tried to water her flower,
And told her that her daughter was always there.
Oh how I relate, how I understand the wilted garden of her soul.
She now knows the love a daughter has for her mother.
Her flowers have perked, the room is no longer cold,
For her rose is slowly blooming again.