I had earnestly been in search of slumber, but the bed where she lay was cold and damp. I knew it was all a dream, and everything would be fine by sunrise. Sunrise seemed to be a cure-all for that which would hinder me. Storms were always gone by sunrise. Adversity, pain, and fear were always chased away by the sunrise. So, I told myself, would be last night’s events.
It was many nights that I had struggled with the loss of my soul, as she had – no doubt – taken it when she left. I was left gurgling on the floor, short of everything including breath, and namely, my sanity. But I knew it was a facade. A hazy delusional fantasy twisted by some dark inferior part of my mind, into existence. And I wept.
You’ve written books, correct? If they are anything like this, I want to read them. I think I forgot to breathe a couple of times while reading this.