He’s coming. She whispered this, a ghostly whisper, but a wisp of smoke upon my ear now.
He appears, smiling so widely the joy is lost.
Obsessive, possessive. Afraid of him as I run and try to escape.
Caught in constant pursuit by my enforced lover.
Worst: I dreamt this after a night thinking about you.
Why can’t they be lovely dreams. Why do they torment me with unexplainable anxiety and fear. Of unobtainable desire and lacking commitments. Fanciful, elaborate make-belief that wither away as the afternoon sun pierces through my conscious. They won’t come to pass; these are all that you shall never deem me precious enough for you to succumb yourself to.