I wake with a start, and wonder if I was ever actually asleep.
Remnants of you are scattered across the ethereal plane of my recollection.
That person isn’t me, I tell myself. Trying to believe I’m really not that girl.
Yet, I have her memories, however vague and intangible. But you.
How could you be merely a ghost in my dreams? When you feel so real.
Even to me now. Still.
My partner tells me that when people visit us in dreams, their souls are actually nearby. I don’t know about this, but my dreams give me a second life. Your poem opens me to that life, and of course, you open your life to us. Thank you.
Thank you Rae, I agree. Very mysterious yet simple things, our dreams.
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