I fell into a medicated sleep. It started off with a race, in which I realized I always stopped before the finish line and prolonged my ending before I crossed to the other side. I saw my past. I saw everyone. They were all the same. None of them had changed in my absence. Then I was on a bus. And I saw you again. And you hated me. So once again in the frenzy of my sleep I apologized for everything. But this time you heard me, but you didn't forgive me until I gave up everything. When I woke up this time, I felt the same way I had felt before. Heartbroken. Because I know I'm not ever going to get that chance to apologize. I'm never going to be able to say I'm sorry. The only way I'm ever going to be able to see you again is in my dreams. I miss what I almost had with you, and I'm sorry that I gave it up. But in this dream I realized I actually had it. At one point in my life, but I'm far off from that point now. You know it's not that much fun to be here right now. I feel like all the time I spent with you was a dream. And now, here, in what I suppose is my new reality all I can feel is alone. It's hard to even remember our late night conversations, and reassurance in your smile, because you feel a bit more like a faded dream to me. I keep on trying to throw myself at people, saying that I've moved on but the truth is I haven't. Because none of them measure up to you. You don't deserve what I put you through, and I'm sorry because I need you more than ever right now. But I know you won't be coming back anymore.