She almost never said his name. Because it made the dreams too real. Because it made the loneliness too tangible when she woke up.

Longing whether for a passion or person is one of the most powerful yet painful emotions there is. It can drive you to its source under the most extreme conditions or it can cripple you from obtaining your dreams. When it comes to the pull you feel always go after it if not itll eat you alive.

Her world fragmented into dozens of sharp cutting shards shedding the salty blood and saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly both caught in a cocoon of raw nerves and open sores she was insanity wrapped up in the thin transient wrappings of a temporary lucidity and she was afraid because an innate desire lay in the bottom reaches of her psyche for the very poison that was killing her.

I remember when I was about ten years old working out that I would be thirty-six in the year 2000. It seemed so far away so old so unreal. And here I am a fucked crazy anorexic-alcoholic-childless beautiful woman. I never dreamed it would be like this.

Outside across the putrid moat and under the dark mute trees I would often lie and dream for hours about what I read in the books and would longingly picture myself amidst gay crowds in the sunny world beyond the endless forests.

Maybe his nightmare had been about me.

I had a dream about you. The ice melted so quickly in our relationship that I didnt even have a chance to tell you I loved you. So I just sat there alone slurping up what was left of us in a straw.

I have outlasted all desire, My dreams and I have grown apart; My grief alone is left entire, The gleamings of an empty heart. The storms of ruthless dispensation. Have struck my flowery garland numb, I live in lonely desolation And wonder when my end will come. Thus on a naked tree-limb, blasted By tardy winter's whistling chill, A single leaf which has outlasted Its season will be trembling still.