she keeps forgetting to realise that it’s just a dream. every time she steps out she expects something more, but that something has never come.
is it a dream this time? is this just a result of the repeated scenarios running through her head? could she be controlling it all? was he really even there?
a knock on the door brings her back to reality. a glance at the time shows her a slice of the truth.
he stands in the sunlight, a crack that seemed almost a million miles away until now.
but you can’t be exposed to sunlight without the lingering thoughts of its caress on your skin. you can’t bathe in its warmth without a need for it to return.
and your eyes, once adjusted to the beauty of light, never want to go back to the dingy darkness again.
so she sits in the darkness on the other side of the front door waiting for the right person to knock so that she can let them in. but she doesn’t know what the right knock will sound like, so each time she hesitates and quietly whispers to them all the same old cliched line…
“it’s not you, it’s me.”