elusive.
in this deep sleep, i can have you when i want you, and i can escape with fewer scratches to my surface.
sometimes, i can push myself to believe it's not a dream, and you're really going to wake up next to me with your five o'clock shadow and a cat on your chest.
when i dream like that, i know where you are and how to say "it means the world to me." i can watch your delicate operations from across the room and tell them how to fix your brain. surgery becomes a beautiful procedure with no blood, only light.
i can tell you about the show or how i wish you were there. i open up a door, and you're standing there with that token smirk, laughing quietly because you surprised me.
sometimes, when i sleep, i can dream in greenish tones with silence, and my eyes aren't brown.
and sometimes you're still gone, sensing a wind at your back and friends crying. and i dream with small noises and slight movements as i look for anything you may have left.
