Conscious

    Waking up was never easy for her. She only felt real in her dreams. Which didn't make sense, and she knew it. But, to her, to be awake was dull, bleak, grey, and when she slept everything was intense. She could drown in the rain and catch fire in the sun.
       She dreaded the seconds she opened her eyes to the world. She would do the same thing every morning, day, and night. Wake up, go to school, pretend to laugh, pretend to study, go home, have family dinner, and make up a story when her parents asked her about her day because, honestly, she couldn't remember. She didn't feel anything until she fell unconscious. She was never sad, happy, angry, or even content, all she felt was empty. She didn't care if her dreams were good or bad because at least she could feel, at least she felt real.
         It was the 28th of August when she laid down, and waited for sleep to consume her, and it did, But she didn't dream. She woke up numb, and she didn't remember if she ever felt.
        Then, her dad looked at her without seeing, and asked if she was okay. She thought, for the first time in years, and looked at him. He saw, and she saw and he whispered and she wondered what that meant. Why would he tell her that?
        She had gone nearly a month without dreaming before she understood. 'This is only a preview', he had said. She had to sleep forever if she wanted to feel.
        She remembers walking out of the school. She remembers taking a bus to the closest city. She remembers climbing all the stairs and standing on the roof. She sees her dad, and he sees her. She let's him help her onto the ledge. She doesn't look back when she speaks,
"Will it hurt?"
"Has anything?" He responds
"Only in my dreams,"
"It won't hurt here, when you sleep it will,"
"Good," she whispers, letting gravity sing her lullaby.
       So, she's gone. You may feel some sorrow, but how can you mourn without knowing her name?