My dreams of you

Last night
you came back
not through my door,
not through a message,
not through the noise of this world
but through my safest place:
my dreams.

And somehow
that hurt more.

You stood there quietly
like a memory afraid to breathe,
holding my hands so gently
as if love had never broken us at all.

You said
“I’m sorry for everything.”

And I wanted to stay angry, guilty, and a lot
I really did.
But dreams are cruel like that
they let the heart speak
before pride can.

You looked at me
like you still carried every version of us
inside your chest.
Like missing me
had become part of your blood.

Then your hands reached for my face,
and suddenly you were crying too,
pulling me close
like you were terrified
to lose me a second time.

You kissed me
with pain in it.
Not passion
pain. Even we never did

The kind of kiss that says
“if life were kinder,
maybe we’d still belong to each other.”

And what broke me most
was hearing you whisper
that even if you moved on,
even if somebody else learned your smile,
your heart would still keep my name
hidden somewhere sacred.

You told me
you still loved me.

Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just honestly
the way people speak in dreams
when there is nothing left to protect.

For a moment
I forgot reality.
Forgot silence.
Forgot how strangers can be made
from people who once knew your soul better than anyone.

And there we were again,
holding each other
inside a world that no longer exists.

When I woke up,
the room felt colder than before.

Because maybe the saddest thing about love
is not losing someone in real life
but finding them again in dreams,
where everything is perfect enough
to remind you
of what could have been
if the timing,
the fear,
the anger,
the distance,
the world itself
had been different. 🌙