Loving him was the equivalent of waking up from a bad dream.
That feeling of safety that you got when you were no longer in a dark place, wrapped securely in
two arms that you thought would never let you go.
Losing him, was the bad dream becoming a reality.
Because now there was no waking up;
just a constant state of darkness and monsters.
YOU ARE READING
Love and Other Fuckups
PoetryA collection of poems and drabbles about things such as life, love, and fucking up.
