You gave me pictures of winter,
to explain your cold heart.

I painted a styrofoam ball
the color of the sun,
thinking I could warm you up.

But storms of ink and tears
plague the places our hearts live.
It's my fault for thinking that happy endings
actually do exist.

My room is quiet, except for the soft sound of breathing. A sound that should be unnoticeable, but sticks out unbearably in this cage. Oak furniture fills the room, standing on a platform of lush carpet. As if this place was some high end hotel.

My room is quiet, except for the ticking of the made-to-look-rustic clock. A sound that would drive some people to madness, which is probably why it fit so nicely. My favorite shade of blue, they actually got it right, colors the walls, sheets, and curtains. As if they want me to feel at home here.

My room is quiet, except for the slightly muted sounds of the outside world. Highways, horns, workers.  Sounds that should blend into the background, but instead float in an out as a reminder that life goes on without me. Around my wrist hangs a loose hospital band, a key into the secret club for crazies. As if I actually belong here.

My room is quiet. My mind is not.

I dream of a room, painted in pastels.
Matching white wooden beds, draped with hand-knit throws.
A big sunlit bay window, letting in the world.
Winnie the Pooh chasing a red balloon on the wall.

In this room I can hold you.
Caress your innocent face.
In this room your fingers, so tiny and helpless,
can wrap around my own.

Here we can sit together, my lips whispering lullabies
in your ear. Ear’s so beautiful, dainty, and perfect I can
hardly believe they came from me. Here we can watch
the world blossom out the big bay window.

I come to this room more and more. Hoping to see you
smile for the first time. Hoping to witness your first steps,
your first words, your first tooth. Hoping to god you remember
my face when I’m gone.


There’s just one problem.
In reality, this room is non-existent.
Because in reality
you are non-existent.



In my dreams alone can I hold you.
Caress your innocent but never-completely-clear face.
In my mind alone can your fingers, tiny and helpless,
wrap around my own.

So I run to my dreams, stumbling and falling
in haste. For you are waiting there
for me.

Only in fantasy can we sit together, singing lullabies I know
but can barely remember the tune too. Only in dreamland
will I see your beauty. Only here can I pretend to
see the world unfold with you in it.

And every time I make it there,
I know it won’t be long till I wake up.
Ripped away from you.

Ripped away from this room, I know I will
never get to see you smile. I won’t see your first steps,
you’ll never take them. I won’t see your first tooth,
it will never come in. I’ll never hear your first word,
you’ll never say it. You won't remember my face,
you've never seen it.


Why, if I will never know you,
**must I dream about you so.