A stack of papers

Ari sat on the edge of my bed
and pushed a stack of papers towards
"I've got these dreams," she said,
"where I control time and can visit
and stay in any time I like. These
dreams are so real," she said, "that
I almost can't stand to be awake when
in waking, there is no him. Because in
dreams, he is there. We walk down our paths
and I relive the first time he held my
hand and the shiver of ecstasy that ran up
my arm as his fingers intertwined with
mine as if he was promising to hold
my hand and be there for me. I can relive
all of our talks, good and bad, and be happy
just because he's there and because I
know that even if we were mad at each other,
he still loved me. He is texting me every day
again and he is there for me every minute again.
He is mine entirely and I can feel the love. I can
love and be loved with one that is my complement.
In my dreams, he is mine and in waking,
he is not and I can't bear it.
I've got all these thoughts and I couldn't
take it so I wrote it all down so it wouldn't
be inside of me and erode my happiness
with regret."
I took the papers and arranged
them neatly and I kept them
in a safe. I kept the regret in a safe
and was able to begin to function again.

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