There are times that I’m glad I don’t talk in my sleep, and that most days I wake up alone. This morning was one of those times. My memory is not brilliant, but I can’t remember a single night in the last 95 days that I haven’t that dreamt of Ms L. Sometimes she yells at me. Sometimes we talk. The most upsetting are the ones where we have managed to move past everything, where we are just hanging out like the friends we used to be. Those are the dreams that leave me crushed, and make it hard to get out of bed.
Stupid brain.
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