3/6/05
Three years ago, I almost died. Everybody that I work with thinks that I am over it, but they don't realize that I still wake up with nightmares of the explosion. They don't realize that I am terrified to light my oven or even a candle when I have my lover over. The only person that I think realizes that I still live with it is the one who sees the damage it did to me.
When I have my nightmares, I wake up screaming because I feel the shards of glass go into my back all over again. Then my lover wakes up and comforts me; at least that's what he calls it. I really don't consider it comfort, but rather a way of telling me to go back to sleep.
