I am fully capable of standing alone, in fact I have often been forced to.

But at night, when I have the unrelenting realization of my loneliness, I see them again.

The men of my past, pushing at the boundaries of my subconscious.

There they are, reminding me of a side of them that never existed, moments that they would never be creative enough to conjure.

I have no choice but to partake and I never resist.

I deserve the better versions of them, I deserve who they could not be for me.

That would be too kind, even for my realistic mind and some nights I feel their unapologetic, forceful entry into the darker parts of me, the darker parts of us.

The men speak to me more harshly, their sickeningly sweet promises made sour with forgetfulness. The roses die, the petals fall, and they leave me all the same.

The only time I see them, let alone in the ways I deserve, is at night and I never resist.

It’s all to see them again.

Pushing the boundaries of my subconscious.