I keep dreaming of her.
Not in the ways I want to
not with warmth, or closure,
not even a passing smile.
Just presence.
Just her there,
and me,
watching.
She stands in a group
and doesn’t see me.
Or pretends not to.
I can’t tell the difference anymore.
I look away
before the ache can flood my face.
And I run.
Because standing still
would make me disappear.
Another dream
a parking lot,
a moment too ordinary to be staged.
She sees me.
Phone to her ear like a shield.
Turns.
Hesitates.
Gets back in.
Drives off.
Even my subconscious
can’t make her stay.
I wake up with questions
that don’t have bodies.
Emotions that didn’t get names.
A silence
that never stopped ringing.
I was never asking for much
just a glance,
just a pause,
just some sign
that I was still real to her.
Instead, I became
the background of her moving on.
Even in dreams,
she forgets me first.