As he lay there on the bed, the past played out inside his head…
If only he had had the chance he would have loved her in ways that she had never been loved. For reasons she had never been told, and for longer than she would have ever thought she deserved.
If he had only had the chance he would have loved her with a passion than she never knew existed inside of him.
But nothing ever felt right in her life, so ‘his’ life could never be complete. All he knew was that whatever he may ever amount to, she would always be the rest of him.
Often he would lay upon his bed willing himself to sleep so that he could dream, for in his dreams she would come to him each time she had come undone, so that he could make her whole again.
She would always try so very hard to stay whole but she would always fail. Time and time again she would come to him and feel somewhere deep inside herself that she was home. She would call out his name loudly, before falling into a thousand pieces.
And in those dreams he would pick up all those pieces and slowly make her whole again.
He loved to dream…..for it reminded him what love felt like.