I woke from a dream where I watched you die, over and over, nothing I could do to stop it.

In every scenario I screamed, I sought out weapons to golden rule the fuck out of your attackers. To do unto them what they were determined to do unto you, but my bullets were tincan flashbang useless while theirs were gymnastics ribbons effortlessly slicing all that I held dear in that frustrating way dreams have of embodying the futility of attempting to run in a vat of molasses.

Wakeful and watching for those late night cogitations that drag me anxiously from 1:23 all the way to 4:56 in a swirl of if I fall asleep in the next ten minutes I could still get x hours before I have to be awake okay fuck it I’ll get up and stretch, I’ll get up and write, I’ll get up and be productive to keep myself distracted from the fear that this is so good I’m sure to lose it.

It’s when I’m drowning in you that I find it easiest to breathe.