reverie / hs

7

I abruptly awaken from the tranquility of my dreams by the harsh reality of loud voices piercing the early morning air. The comforting warmth of Harry's embrace evaporated into the cold realization that I was back in my own room, my own life.

 The vibrant blue walls, the soft lighting, the framed photo of Harry and me on the nightstand—all of it was gone. It was as if that world had never existed, a mere figment of my imagination.

The shrill ring of my alarm clock shattered the remnants of sleep clinging to my mind. I groaned, fumbling to silence it, but the noise persisted. With a heavy sigh, I sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, only to realize it wasn't my alarm—it was the sound of my parents arguing downstairs.  

The familiar ache of anxiety tightened my chest as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet meeting the cool embrace of the hardwood floor. 

The floorboards creaked under my weight as I stood, a stark contrast to the serene silence of Harry's world. This room, with its pale yellow walls and worn furniture, felt so mundane, so ordinary, in stark contrast to the comforting elegance of Harry's home. It was a reminder that my life was far from the idyllic dreamscape I had just experienced.

The voices downstairs grew louder, fragments of their argument drifting up to me like shards of broken glass. 

My parents' on and off strained relationship had been a constant backdrop to my life. Why can't they just get along? A familiar sense of frustration welling up inside me.

Dressing quickly, I tried to drown out their voices with the mundane tasks of getting ready for the day. The posters of my favorite bands on the walls, the cluttered desk with textbooks and notes—they were no longer remnants of my teenage years but anchors in a reality I struggled to navigate. My room felt like a prison, trapping me in a life that felt so unfulfilling.

Heading downstairs, the acrid scent of brewing coffee mingled with the bitter taste of tension in the air. Mom stood by the kitchen counter, her face lined with worry, while Dad paced back and forth, his voice rising with each word.

"...can't keep doing this, Donna," Dad's voice cracked with frustration. "We need to figure this out."

Mom shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm trying. But it's not just about us anymore." I could see the pain etched on her face, the weariness in her eyes.

Their words hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to my recent peaceful dreams and shared moments in Harry's world. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether to intervene or retreat, caught between the turmoil of my parents' reality and the fleeting serenity of my dreams. Maybe I should just disappear back into that dream. A desperate longing to escape this harsh reality.

"Good morning, Elena," Mom's voice broke through the tension, her attempt at a smile faltering.

"Morning," I replied quietly, my gaze shifting between them. Dad glanced at me, his expression softening briefly before he turned away, lost in his own thoughts. His eyes held a flicker of guilt, perhaps regretting his outburst.

The weight of their unresolved issues pressed down on me, a reminder that while Harry offered solace in dreams, my waking life held its own challenges—ones that couldn't be escaped with a simple awakening. I wished I could bring Harry into this world, to offer his warmth and comfort to my parents, to heal the rift that seemed to widen with each passing day.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, the warmth offering a brief respite from the chill in the air. As I sipped the bitter brew, I found myself yearning for the quietude of Harry's world, where conflicts were resolved with whispered reassurances and gentle embraces. He made it all seem so easy, so effortless.

But here, in the harsh light of reality, I knew I had to face the day—a day filled with classes, responsibilities, and the echoes of my parents' strained relationship. As I gathered my things and headed out the door, I couldn't shake the lingering sense of longing for a world where dreams felt more real than waking life. I longed for the comfort of that blue-hued world where everything felt right. But I knew, deep down, that I couldn't escape the harsh realities of my life.