Her Way

I woke up because your spirit tapped me on the shoulder. I was dreaming of her. I only went to sleep to see her, and because I couldn’t bare the consequences of being conscious. I couldn’t bare the weight of my heavy heart. I knew I’d see her in the depths of my unconscious because she has a house there. She spends two-thirds of the day walking behind me. Behind me so I can’t see her, but I can feel her. Behind me so she can watch me with her judgmental eyes. She’s reconstructed Dante’s ninth circle just for me. When I finally find myself alone, I choose to sleep. I choose to visit her where she resides the rest of the day. I know exactly how it will go, because it goes the same way every time. Yet, every time I approach her house with a renewed hope in my heart. I stand at the foot of her door with a boyish smile on my face and knock three times. After a long silence, I can hear her approaching the door from inside the house. After what seems like a lifetime, she cracks open the door just enough so she can see me and I can only make out half of her face. Every time she looks right at the bouquet of dead roses I brought for her, and then back at me. The smile leaves my face. Her garden is filled with all kinds of bright, beautiful flowers, none of them roses. So, I never think to pick any. She closes the door and locks it without saying a word. I stand there. Defeated. Because I know what comes next. I shut my eyes tight and burn the image of her in my head, just in time to be awoken by a tap on the shoulder. I wake up startled. I know she prefers this arrangement instead. That’s why I choose to sleep, because when I wake up the weight of my heart has already descended into my stomach like an anchor drops to the ocean floor. I go on about my day. Nobody sees me, but they know I’m there.