Sometimes when I dream, I hold onto them desperately.
When I was small, it was a sword to fight monsters,
So tight was it clenched in my hand when I woke,
I wondered if a sword was still there in my numb hand.
Or on good nights it was my breath I held
to fly through the hallways of my school with greater ease.
I breathed heavily at first consciousness, my lungs burned
but still I toiled to recapture the right amount of air,
to cause myself to float free of my superman sheets.
These last months it was love, and I woke before my eyes opened.
Morning tears grace my orbs before the first light of day.
My heart searing with the dream that almost was.