Your face was in my dream again last night.
I'm not sure when I can expect this to stop happening.
This subconscious need is becoming habitual,
Almost as frequently as the conscious one,
Like all the times your name appears in my search history.
Not that I can see anything,
Not that anything I can imagine
Is an active representation of who you are now,
But because somewhere, despite all my exhausted efforts
My heart is still playing out our story.
My heart still fights with the endings,
So it makes up new ones,
Spins images into happier realities.