In My Dreams

I wonder if you can see what I see.

It's always been one of my greatest flaws: I have wild, vivid dreams. Fantastical dreams. Dreams that often never become reality. It's almost eerie how detailed my fantasies are.

In my dreams, I see us sleeping soundly in your bed, our limbs an entangled mess. Through the darkness, you study me through hooded eyes. I'm asleep, unaware of the intensity of your gaze as it sweeps across my face. Your eyes are bright even in the darkness, putting the moonlight that's seeping through the curtains to shame.

Do you see all of that? Or do you see us in my bed—not yours—moving together, sweaty and frantic, instead of sleeping? In your dreams, are your eyes closed rather than drinking me in? Are mine worshipping every inch of your indifferent body? Do you see a whisper of sadness hiding in the corners of my eyes? Do you even care?

I wish I could read your mind. I wish that, somehow, I could filter my dreams into your mind so you would share them with me. Then, you could truly see what I see. You would see light and feel warmth and taste honey. Without me having to say a word, you'd join me in the fresh, new light, and we'd begin our eternal dance. Warmth would wrap its blanket around us, and our honey-coated tongues would collide in a second dance.

My dreams would then be reality; I would be able to open my eyes in the morning, and nothing would have changed from when they were closed. Can you make that come true for me? Just once, I want to be able to look at you and see my desire for you reflected for me in your eyes. I no longer want to see just my image staring back at me, sick with longing.

Do you even want to see what I see?

Don't bother sparing my feelings, for they've been through a couple hells from loving you in silence. Speak only honest words—even if they'll drive the final crack into my heart. I'll pick up the pieces myself. I always do. Just please end my suffering. I don't think I can't take it anymore.

If your dreams show you holding a woman that isn't me and kissing lips that aren't mine, tell me now. I hope you can see my demand in my eyes because, just like all the other times, my mouth is dry of words. I've always worn my emotions like clothing, so words have never really been necessary. Please, just give me an answer.

Then, I can finally stop tearing myself into pieces over our bleak future. My dwindling hope can finally be snuffed. Only you can put it out. I handed that power over to you long ago. In fact, I doubt it ever belonged to me to begin with.

If you don't see the light I see and feel the warmth I feel when I think of you in my dreams, tell me so. If I can't have you, at the very least, I want the reins of my emotions returned to me. Your unknowing hands have held control of them for so long that I don't know what will become of me without you. But I'm so weary from this constant limbo of hope and hopelessness that I am desperate. Desperate enough to cut you out of me if that's what it'll take to have my sanity back.

Or this could all be solved with four simple words: "I see it, too."

Please tell me you see what I see.