The song "Winter Sleep" by Olivia Lufkin appeals deeply to my emotions. The lyrics, the mood, and the emotion that my own mind hears. I learned the lyrics and began singing it in no time. A friend of mine said, "Behind everyone's favorite song is a story." For me, this song is what I'm asking of the other person that's involved in my story.
Once, I sang it in front of a different person. "I'm lost in deep winter sleep. I can't seem to find my way out alone. Can you wake me?" Those are the last lyrics of the song. Upon hearing them, he touched lifted my chin and told me, "I think I just did." Bless his heart, but I didn't feel awoken at all. As time goes on, I feel like I'm falling into a deeper and deeper sleep. Reality is like a dream to me now. Sleep means nothing more than enough rejuvenation to make it through the next day, except for the nights that I dream of the man I long for. Those dreams are rare. I want them, because in my heart I desire this man. Yet when I wake up from those dreams in the morning, reality is my worst nightmare.
My winter sleep began in the summer, when my heart became frozen in its dream. Now that my time without him has reached Christmas, reality feels like nothing more than a bitter dream. This is not my worst Christmas, but it is by far the most painful one I've been through yet. Every day I go on hoping, even though I tell myself not to. It feels like a hollow hope now. I know inside that I won't hear from him, but I still hope. I can't tell anymore how much it affects me when my hopes get that far up... only to be empty like I predicted.
In one week, the new year will be upon us. The next month will be our birthday. Will my winter sleep continue until then, or will I be woken by his words?
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The Mind
Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)
If the boy who draws
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.
— Alaska Gold
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.
— Alaska Gold