again

I woke up with a heavy heart. My lungs were tired, my eyes were swollen. I don't want to run away from these dreams anymore. I've never had nightmares like this. The aftershock, the pain—has never lasted me for more than ten minutes after waking. So why you?

See, falling asleep before 3am means tossing and turning, and waiting for my eyelids to feel as weak as the rest of me, and waiting for my heart to calm, and trying to forget what it was like to drive up your street and feel my stomach tie a thousand knots because I knew you weren't good for me and never would be.

Waking up before noon means a numbing clarity that I can't embrace or push away; you have become something that happened to me that I try too hard to forget. I always pause for too long in the early mornings and late afternoons, sitting in bed, welcoming trauma and restlessness with open arms and a tired tongue.

I've stopped trying to understand what went wrong, but my brain won't. I don't want to fall asleep anymore; it keeps getting harder and harder to wake up, especially when I want to.