today we arose from our slumber, faster than the sun ever could.
Grief stood in the corner of my bedroom and wrote me a note.
tonight, he tucked the folded paper under my pillow
it was almost like he yelled for me to wake up, to rise and remember the things I’d much rather forget.
Many would consider him to be a wake up call,
some kind of romantic being that begged for the sight of my open eyes.
whom after awhile,
missed the laugh I had grown accustom to letting out,
and never forgot the different words I’d learn to trip over.
and maybe this was romantic
it was some kind of love story
I guess you could say.
A love story where he pleaded for my living
A love story where no matter how many times he tried to wake me up,
I’d shush him,
wish for his disappearance,
He would try again the next day.
a beating heart was enough for him though,
it was a message from me to him, saying thank you
not for the admiration
not for the begging
not for the constant remembrance of the people I miss
not for the loving
not for the letters under my pillow
but for catching me in a temporary sleep
that he didn’t want to last forever, and teaching me how to wake
when that is the last thing I had wished to do.