When you're dreaming with a broken heart

The waking up is the hardest part

In his dreams, she was there. She reached out to him with that loving embrace he felt so comfortable in. She promised never to leave him, and he swore the same. Then they lie together, knowing that nothing could part them. Their love would always remain invincible.

Then he awoke. It was agonizingly painful when his dreams ended, because he knew he still needed her. But she was gone. Still walking the planet, still the ever so slim chance that she would come back to him, but gone from his life. There was no way he could ever beg her into staying with him again. Her mind was well decided, and he was left with his dreams and fantasies, not to mention a shattered, broken heart.

It was hard knowing that his reality was so terrible. He wished that he could stay asleep forever, because his dreams were much better. After all, she was there.

His dreaming felt lucid because he always knew he wasn't truly living these ideas. However, he chose to control his dreaming by keeping her with him, not living what was really going on in the world where whatever could happen at any time. But soon enough, the dreams always concluded, and he rose to the most difficult time of day.

You roll outta bed and down on your knees

And for the moment you can hardly breathe

Each morning, it took him five minutes to leave his bed. And every morning, without fail, he would crash to his knees and think of her. This was too awful of a heartbreak to experience. He wanted it all to be a nightmare, but he knew that couldn't be true. No, she was all too real to be a fantasy, and yet, she was too much like a dream. He knew it was killing him slowly to be so in love with her, but he couldn't stop.

It pained him even more to think of the recent past. She'd called him, called him for help, and he finally realized that he loved her. And he didn't just keep it in- he told her, and they were together at last. And now she was gone from him. Knowing this… remembering this… knocked all the wind out of his lungs.

Loving her was not an easy task. He knew he could never stop loving her, because it was too intense to move on completely. She would just linger in his heart as it continued to break. He envisioned her eyes, the blue windows of bewilderment, passion, love, and depression. She was broken enough so that loving was hard, and he thought he could mend her dismembered soul. But he had been wrong, wrong, wrong.

The vision of her passed, and he slowly and deeply inhaled. If he couldn't see her again or be with her again, he couldn't live. And out of both spite and adoration, he hoped she knew she was a murderer. No, he wouldn't die. But he certainly wouldn't live.

Wondering was she really here?

Is she standing in my room?

Certain times, sporadic times, he would be come delusional. He would question if they ever had a relationship at all. At times, it seemed like someone as brilliant and confident as her would never be with a vulnerable guy like him. He didn't deserve her. Maybe, even when they were together, it was all a belief in his fantastical head. She might have assumed they were only friends, and he was just creating pictures in his mind. Then why did she make such a huge deal about leaving him? Had she really left?

Other instances, he would become more optimistic. He would wonder if she was still in love with him, but afraid to commit. Occasionally, he would search his room repeatedly, wondering if she had somehow snuck in to be with him and ask for forgiveness. He knew that there was no forgiveness to be shared, because he wasn't angry with her. No, he was angry with himself for making her unhappy. That was why she'd fled.

He could still see her every now and then. On some mornings, it was like she was lying next to him in his bed, like it used to be. And he would grin at her, thanking God that He had chosen the two of them to be together and in love. Then he would blink, and the moment he reopened his eyes, he remembered that she was never coming back to him. As he dressed, he would see her around his bed, just smiling and giggling. He would lunge at her and try to kiss her, but as soon as he tried to meet her in an embrace, he would notice that he was reaching for nothing. Only air.

It was her damn fault for being so fucking confusing. If she would just be a normal girl, things would be easier. She wouldn't be gone, and they would be together. She would be happy. Then again, he knew he should feel some sort of empathy, because of her turbulent past. Her family was torn to shreds, and she only had her loving mother to support her. Aside from her mother, she'd had her best friend, and that had to end quickly and tragically. This girl he loved had seen too much, and she had been through the wringer more often than a person with feelings so strong should. That was why she couldn't be average. That was why she was ruining everything, but at the same time, improving it all.

Will you wake up by my side?

No, she can't, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone…

Throughout his now average days, he would wonder if she was ever going to consider coming back. He loved those nights and mornings spent with her, and watching her sleep and wake up was two of the most beautiful things he'd ever witnessed. Somehow, the fact that she performed those tasks by his side made them all the more special.

He felt such an ownership towards her. It wasn't an obsessive type, but he did feel like she was his and only his. And he always thought she felt that way about him, but he had been heartbreakingly incorrect. He didn't just want her… he needed her. Without her waking up and walking by his side, he couldn't begin to properly thrive. When she was standing next to him, he was truly a more interesting person, and not just a simple being of existence. When they were together, she made him feel like a person of importance.

After slight hope, he would always face his harsh reality once more. It was such a repetitive behavior, and he would give it all for it to cease. She was never going to come back to him, and he thought after telling it to himself time and time again that it would sink into his said-to-be-genius brain. She was gone forever, in some ways, worse than how the friend was gone.

But he would continue to hold out just a bit of hope. There was always the chance that it would work out well for him… for them. Would she realize that without her, he was nothing? He felt like a character out of a terrible movie, and for the first time, he longed for that cliché, sappy ending he was so used to hating. For once in his life, he wanted to live that shit.

Now, do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hands?

Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hands?

Appropriately, the rose was her favorite flower. The blossom could easily be used as a symbol for her, as well as the remains and previous occurrences of their lost relationship. They were red, the color of love, passion, and blood. She loved so many people, but at the same time, there were many she hated. And because she loved and hated so vigorously, she was extremely and truly passionate. When one is given a rose, it is a sign of true love, and for him, she was nothing but true love. And blood… she would shed her own and shed it of others if someone hurt someone she loved. That was how beautifully and sensitively she felt.

Of course, the physical beauty of the rose had much to do with her as well. He thought that physically, she was a very beautiful young woman, so petite and seemingly fragile. However, in the end, she and the rose were invincible, and they would win any battle against anything that crossed their paths. As a person looks at a rose, they feel empowered and overtaken by the striking beauty. That was exactly how he (and many others) felt whenever they laid eyes on her.

Then there was the most important comparison between her and the rose: the thorns. No flower has more dangerous thorns than the rose. One prick and you're bleeding and you can't believe something as outwardly innocent as a flower could do that to do you. It was the same with her. If she wasn't a fan of you or if you seemed like a threat, she would hurt you like you couldn't believe. However, roses can have their thorns removed. When she was around him, it was like she was allowing him to pick the thorns from her scathed soul, and she became more gentle. It made him feel important, and he knew it must have made her feel better about her real identity.

If he had to, he would grasp tightly onto a rose in his sleep. If that were what brought her to him, he would do it. In fact, he would prefer it if the rose had thorns on the stem. That would bring him closer to her, wherever she was. His rose… his fighter… his one, true love.

Would you get them if I did?

No, you won't, 'cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone

One night, he decided to try it. He wished that by some twist of fate, sleeping with a rose would make her come back to him. Anything was worth it. He would give anything to see her again… to have her love him so deeply again.

Before he closed his eyes and drifted off into a dream, he pictured her lovely face. He whispered, "Please, please be with me. Please know that I love you." And he was through. All he had to do was wait.

"Hey."

At the sound of a different voice, his eyes opened immediately. His vision was blurred, but he was nearly certain he saw her. And sure enough, as soon as his eyes were clear, she was hovering over him, half smiling and half tearing.

He was lost for words. He'd so seriously longed for her to be with him, and there she was. Slowly, he was becoming less hollow and more whole and rounded, but he was still speechless. Her being with him now was a miracle.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered, feeling his voice shake. "I thought you were leaving me."

"I could never leave you," she told him, looking him square in the eye, and he believed her with every part of his being. "It was a mistake to even think of it. I am bruised by everything I've seen, and I'm afraid. I know better now."

He smiled at her, suddenly feeling stupid for all the heartbreak he'd experienced since he thought she'd left him for good.

"Well, I am so glad," he was crying now. "Because I was nothing without you."

He looked down at the rose in his hand, and he remembered. Could this be? Could his insane mechanism have worked after all?

"Did you sense that I was sleeping with a rose?" he questioned. "Because I did it for you, hoping that you might come back to me, and, obviously, you did. Did you know?"

She laughed, puzzled by his childlike logic of her return.

"No," she responded. "I didn't. I came back to you because I couldn't function without someone to love. The only people to ever love me are dead and gone, except for you. I have to be with you, or I will go insane."

"So, what are you gone from?"

It took her a while to respond, but she finally did, and he couldn't have agreed with her raw answer more than he did as he heard it spoken.

"I am gone from the emptiness," she told him. "Gone from all the bad I have seen. All I need now is an overpowering love, and I know that you are the source of that for me."

Overcome by everything that had happened, he fiercely grabbed her by shoulder and wildly kissed her, hoping the hottest flame would never die out.