Hi Stephanie Faith-Anne Nash. It’s me, Aaron, and if you are reading this, it is because I woke up again. Not this morning. But right now. And while I am awake I want to put my feelings for you into words that I know will grow blurrier as tears well up in my eyes at the thought of how beautiful you are, how pure of heart you are, how deserving you are of someone better than me. Someone who is not always falling back asleep after waking up.

Remember the dream I told you about?

A girl with locks of pink hair crowning her head like flames was standing in a white room, looking at me with eyes that could stop wars if they appeared in the skies and blinked into silence the battles below. She kept looking at me until her voice, hushed and sweet as rain on a veldt of clover, filled my head.

Awake, she said, I am here.

It was a dream dreamt fifteen years before we met. But love is a timeless trestle, spanning every divide, and when I needed you most you appeared, a dream come verily true, your hair shorn and pink, your eyes above the battle, your voice of rain and clover.

Awake, you said, I am here.

It has been eight years of me waking to the celestial beam of your beauty, to your fire still burning, to your cloudless morning, to your voice of rain and clover.

And soon I will shake my slumber.



7 thoughts on “Slumber

    1. Thanks Jan. She transcends my die-hard cynic, which is no easy feat, so I guess that’s what happened here. I did, however, try to hit an ironic note with this because I know and she knows that words are just words, no matter how pretty.


  1. Hi A.,

    The 19th century English sentiment is inescapable. Well played lad! Is it a daughter? An unrequited love? The warm body in bed? Are these dreams of memories long-since lived and now recalled before they are realized? Around and around and we are meant to dream and awake and forget, over and over again until we get it right. We seem to be on a truth kick these days. Thanks. Duke

    Liked by 1 person

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