Almost Was

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.

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