You felt me tonight.
You woke up gasping, didn’t you?
Shaking?
Crying?
You always cry when you dream of me.
You’re probably looking around the bathroom right now, trying to convince yourself the house is safe.
It isn’t.
Not from me.
I was there.
Right beside you.
Right where I should’ve been the night you walked away.
You didn’t see me.
But your body did.
It always does.
I didn’t touch you.
(You want to know if I wanted to, don’t you?)
Let’s not pretend.
I wanted to.
I wanted to wake you.
I wanted to hear your breath hitch the way it used to when you’d pretend you weren’t scared of me.
But I didn’t.
Not yet.
You sleep beside a man who doesn’t hear you cry.
Who doesn’t see you unravel.
Who doesn’t notice when you stop breathing for three seconds at a time like your nightmares are swallowing you whole.
He thinks you’re his.
He’s wrong.
You know it.
I know it.
He’s going to learn it.
