Sometimes I think about how
I love you even in my dreams.
One night, I imagined we were
spies, traveling to a mansion in
a bathtub instead of car, and you
pressed my back against the cold
tile when you kissed me. But, a
different night, the train you rode
slewed off its tracks into a ravine
while I watched through the glass
windows of a diner. I will never
forget how I chewed my tongue
while I looked for your body in the
rocks and twisted metal. For hours
I convinced myself you were alive;
only when I woke up were you dead.
Those four minutes—when writing
your eulogy was more impossible
than any traveling bathtub and my
bedsheets were a concrete casket—
that was the nightmare. But then you
told me good morning, and I was
back in my dreams. Funny how my
mind taught me what losing you feels
like, so I will never let myself wake
up against anything but our cold tiles.
Poem originally published in September 2024 in issue 35 of the Blue Marble Review.
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