woman closing her eyes on white flower

I Still Dream About You

I dream about you a lot. I dream about you almost every night, and in every single one of them, we’d be doing things we never got to do.

I dream about being on road trips with you. We wouldn’t be in the front seats—someone else would be driving. We’d be in the back seat and I’d lay my head on your shoulder and you’d wrap your arm around me as I watched the view from the window.

I dream about seeing your apartment. I dream about us finally getting to the point where you’d take me to the place you call home, and I’d be nervous and shy, but you’d make me feel comfortable.

Other times, I dream about you being in my apartment too. I dream about us after a night out, stumbling on the lobby stairs on our way in, laughing and kissing in the elevator and making our way straight to my bed, where you make love to me and it feels surreal.

I dream about meeting your parents. You’d introduce me to them, and they’d have an entire dinner prepared on the table. Your mom would tell stories about you as a kid and your step-dad would show how proud he was to call you his son. You’d show me your childhood room—it had a gorgeous balcony with a table and two chairs. We’d spend the rest of the night stargazing, appreciating the quiet.

I dream about you a lot, and sometimes I wake up from those dreams because in the dream we’d be talking and I’d say something, but instead of saying it in the dream, I’d say it out loud while asleep. My heart breaks when this happens, because I wish so badly that it could’ve really been us having the conversation for real.

I dream about you a lot. And it doesn’t make it any easier, because these dreams just remind me of what I don’t have when I’m awake, these dreams become fantasies that I yearn for while I go on with my day.

Sometimes I wish the dreams would stop so the pain could end and I can finally move on. But without them, I wouldn’t have anything to hold on to anymore. Without them, there would be no reminder of you, even if they aren’t real.

I dream about you a lot. You’re like a lingering ghost. The ghost of what I should’ve worked hard for, what I should’ve chosen, what I shouldn’t have let go of.

I dream about you a lot, because I regret not fighting for you when I had the chance. But it’s too late and these are all I have now—just dreams of what could have been.

Where my failed love stories lay to rest.

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