a rude awakening

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

forcefully,

angrily.

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.

He,

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,

and still,

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.

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