Like a time of forever sleep (dream or death?)

In some dream a distance away. (30-2-24)

Being broken up with comes the open arms of grief.

For banshee, grief was not a thing that wore her down like rain soaked clothing, why, even something as miserable as water filled rainboots could be romanticised by her.

It was her greatest power, sometimes, when she rests her head as she wishes to sleep, she thinks that her life would be much more miserable if she hadn't seen everything in rose tinted glasses.

For banshee, grief hit her when she would walk her fawn coated dog, all happy and cheerful.

It hit when she looked beside her, the weight of a faux world on her shoulders, and she hadn't seen the woman she loved.

It was difficult for the longest time to try and not think about her ex, but she had never been honest with herself, how could she?
If she wasn't a pathological liar to herself, then she probably would've been diagnosed with a horrible mental disease a millennia ago. Banshee would go days convincing herself that she wouldn't date her ex again.

But whenever her head hit her pillow, hoping, no, wishing that she could lull her living nightmare, she would be met with the soft face of her, the woman that had caused her so much pain and misery,
the woman that could sing the song of a dead man and still would manage to put to sleep,
the woman who could look at banshee's supple body and believe that she was the most beautiful thing to ever exist.
Yes.
That was how she lived.

To wake,
to eat a microwaveable meal,
to go to school which was a tasteless and boring,
to come back home only to be screamed at,
to go to sleep,
soft, music playing in one of her ears, aiding to her fantasy that she once had.

In the distance, she sees a future where she leans on a pillow as she lays beside her on their bed.
Their bed.

The future is muffled,

she reaches her hand out to touch it, but all she can feel is the cold air of her room.

The future is bittersweet, she imagines laying beside her, propped up on a pillow, her eyes busy glazing over a ao3 fanfiction, her fingers absent-mindlessly dragging against the rim of her raspberry tea filled cat mug. However, although her movements would suggest that she is the star of this dream, it's her girlfriend.

She lays there unmoving, reading over a piece of literature that described two gay lovers from Greek mythology, a book that she had always gone back to when she hadn't a clue what to read.

She lay there, her body propped by Banshee's, resting on her chest, a place which her girlfriend had often gravitated to since her breasts were "so comfortable."
Both were quiet, enjoying the peace they experienced on most mornings, enjoying their closeness even when being their own individual.
As Banshee scrolled to read the next lines of her fanfiction,
she looks at her, as if opposite poles were pulling them together. She looks at her as though she's looked at no other. She looks at her as if they had known each other for a lifetime when it had only been a few years.

Banshee looks at her, almost as if she's developed a 6th sense,
one that reads every emotion her girlfriend has. She feels it, revels in it, bathes in it.
Banshee looked at her with a soft face with a small smile plastered on it, looking in her blue eyes, not needing to search far to find the warmth that she always wanted had for her.
They spend what feels like an eternity simply looking at each other, burying themselves in their 8am romantic silence session.

Banshee leans in slowly before kissing her cheek, a small glazing of her strawberry flavoured chapstick leaving a mark on her cheek.
She then kissed her again, this time with more meaning although it was ever so lazy.
She had kissed her girlfriend's bottom lip, the tint of her chapstick leaving a fossil of her love for her girlfriend.

Isadora leaned back into her pillow once more before leaning her head against hers.
interlocking their arms before returning to her fanfiction,
both of their cheeks flushed pink.

Banshee pulls back her hand quickly, her fists grasped together, as if she wanted to grab the future in her hands and consume it like the rabid animal she was.

She wanted so badly to retreat to these stupid fantasies that lay waste to her soul.
It only takes a moment for the world to come crashing down.
Banshee realises that she won't ever have her future be real.

Well, not real enough.

She would be laying by herself in her queen sized bed.
She could picture it already.
Her tea would be cold, the remnants of the leaves and spices swirling around in a brown mug.

She thought of how cold the bed would be.
How she had no reason to apply her favourite strawberry flavoured chapstick.
How she wouldn't even bother to register if it was 3 in the morning of 9.
She realised how sick and idiotic it is to believe that her future could be real.

However, she thought to herself. Thought to herself until the sun came up and the crows started crying out.
She realised that she won't ever live her future without her.

Banshee looks to the side of her room, a jar of all the beautiful love letters her ex had written her neatly sitting inside it filling her vision.

She grabbed the pillow that was beside her,
she squeezed it close to her heart,
pulling her legs to hook over it,
she sighs softly to herself, imagining herself in her beautiful faux future.

She caresses the side of the pillow, pretending it was her.