I sometimes still think I hear his voicein the words I hear myself say.I think I see him in the crowd,but I can’t get to him before he fades away.
I’m still not convinced this is all real.I’m hanging on to the chance that it’s not.It’s not the reality I want,but painfully it’s the only one I’ve got.
Do you know how it is when your world,your reality, and everything go?The colors, they fade,and time moves too fast or too slow.
When you realize there’s only so little you can sleep,you wish it’d been a nightmare and hope for a dreamand you see that the medicine cabinet’s only so deep.
But this is one thing that is just exactly as it seems,the hot-lava tears that run down your faceand the sad songs that seem to repeat,when you’re lying in your bed with the curtains drawnstill feeling so unbelievably beat.
I still think it’s himwhen I go to answer the phone,when I drive in the carand I don’t feel like I’m alone.
I wake up in the morning,lay my head down at nightand think there’ll never be a pointwhen things go back to feeling just right.
- A living nightmare (susieslittleinspirations.wordpress.com)
- Theodore Roethke – “The Waking” (combatsteve.wordpress.com)