I Dream of You Sometimes

I’m beginning to think you aren’t real.

I haven’t heard from you in awhile, but I think about you a lot. I even dream of you sometimes. I trust that if you are in the neighborhood, you will stop by. You always did. You brought me something each time, a half-eaten box of chocolate, a daisy from my flower box, the last cookie in your lunch. It made me chuckle every time.

The other day I thought I saw your car. I waved, but a stranger waved back at me through the glass. I know it was your car, it had the same rusty spot on the left fender and the dent in the bumper where you backed into that cherry tree.

Then I saw your face, but it was on another’s body; just the same angled nose and dark eyes staring vacantly ahead, without the light of your smile.

I feel like I am waking up from the nicest dream, and you are slipping away from me as I enter a world of stark reality. A world that lies to me about you. What I know of you is fading away into doubt. It makes me question myself.

Am I really awake?

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