Regret

It was a soft tapping against my window that lulled me into my glorious waking dream but it was the heavy smell of gardenias that opened my eyes.

I lay quiet listening to the rain – as the house had not yet been aroused by the rising of the sun.

Shadows cast a soft rememberance against the walls in my room, and closing my eyes I tried to get back into the dream, but it was gone. He was gone.

I don’t pretend to know why I stay, why you stay. Only that it is comfortable and familiar, and too late to begin again, for both of us.

In the end it won’t matter anyway. In the end only the dream will remain.