Being reminded.
Two o’clock in the morning.
I am dreaming quietly, the blanket has yet to be ripped off of my skin,
unveiling my vulnerable flesh.

Two-thirty, and I am skinned of my dreams and told I am unable to find what I want.

You.

Could I be held again for one more second? May my hands hold yours in the dark of a room lit by your smile, am I allowed to know you again as only mine for another moment?

You are not mine anymore. The world had taken you back and I am reminded when I wake up to words of sending me off into the world without you.

Remind me, again, about how much you needed me. Lying in your lap and wishing for an eternity of finally knowing what it is like to feel alive.

Foolish, I know. To be reminded and expect miracles to unearth from the universes I have created where I can have what I need and what I want.

Impossibilities haunt me at night, reminding me of what I cannot have.
The spoiled little girl inside me throws tantrums unworthy of this world.

I have grown up, and I grew into you and to be ripped away is simply a knife to my chest, a heartbreak I have never known. I kiss the pieces goodnight, and shape them into your name.
and let the wind sweep them away, the same way I have to, but, at night, I am reminded of the last night I thought this would last.

and it is the only memory keeping me sane.

- to be more was a reality I knew, and is now a dream I hold onto
-Chloe Aldecoa