I still dream about you.
They are not the vivid recreations of my memories that they used to be.
But you are in them ever still.

You appear as a fog; a vague ghost of yourself.
You float through my dreams beside me as an unwanted guide,
and you fade away just before an awakened state creeps back over my concious mind.
There was a time my dreams were filled with visions of you holding me close to your heart.
A time when I dreamt of wedding bells,
and the song of small feet roaming throughout an old country home.
Now my dreams are filled with horror, and chaos.
They are an untamed wilderness that I must survive nightly, and you are always there.

I haven’t decided which is worse: having you drift along through my dreams,
bruising my soul ever deeper with every glimpse of your face.
Or, gazing upon the end of humanity every time I close my eyes at night.
I spent so many years of my life longing for your presence that now you are imprinted opon my mind,
and as much a part of me as I am a part of myself.
Such a bittersweet existence in which I now reside.

Unrequited love is not the romantic expression Hollywood has made it to seem.
It is a disease that creeps in, and destroys it’s host entirely.
It is cancer of the heart which causes the bearer to react irrationally.
I cannot escape this unreturned affection, nor do I suspect myself to wish to.

I still dream about you.
They are not the vivid recreations of my memories that they used to be.
But you are in them ever still.