And then it happened. You lifted the heavy lids that sheltered you from the existing space outside your mind.

It is dark.
It is quiet.
It is lonely.

Your inner voice that speaks in subliminal images did it again. It let the super ego loose. It allowed you to forget reality and live in the concocted constructs narrative. To be cared for, to be loved, to be valued.

You can still feel those warm memories. You can still feel that furnace in your chest. Fueled by illusions, buried desires and ill conceptions. The death of that dream was like a fire put out in a snowy night. Rapidly fleeting is that momentary sweetness, harder to appreciate as every second it distances from your memory.

And here we resume the routine. The bitter tears and the crunched expressions that alternate every few seconds. Enough for your purses lips to open and for a weep to slither out. The heat escaping your eyes to streak down your cheeks is going cold. Is it familiar? Does it not remind you of something just mentioned?

Yes, this is just another night. Yes, another one that will pass like every other. You will forget it in the morning.

Yes, like every other.