Dreams.

My dreams.
You are now the only connection between me and my flesh and blood.
You overwhelm me with comfort.
The comfort that feels so unreal to me that it remains the only indicator of how you are not a reality, when you are all that I see.
The comfort that I only ever felt the absence of, not knowing that I had it when I had it.
The comfort that I am no longer used to.

You tease me with your eagerness to disappear,
Far into the recesses of my mind , out of the door of consciousness.
The more I focus on you , the flimsier you appear
The harder I will to make you stay , the sooner you leave.
Yet I run behind you like a mad man, chasing , what I know to be unreachable, even in the moment.

Each time I slump down on my knees, defeated.
The only thing that is mine is the dust from my past.

And thus
My dreams,
You are a merciless imagery,
A tease that erodes the healing scab that time lays over my bleeding heart.
But you come nonetheless.
And I crave you for the fleeting moments of comfort.
Because I am an addict of the highest order of intoxication.
Love, loss and grief.