I woke up gasping for your air, startled, because the darkness of my whereabouts, worn from a dream that you were here, held its spectral fingers around my throat. But that was yesterday, a lingering yet forgotten dream. Tonight I'm awake and the light is on, the sun is rising, as it does, and I am still choking. It's been years, replay for me those awkward moments you replay in your head; those moments you said something that you regret, that bother you still though it's been years and your baby brother, nearing a man just younger than you when you first spoke them, has long since forgotten... and there, there is that gasping again from the thought that nothing is lost because it meant something then— he felt that, as I also felt it instantaneously— and yet wherever the moment may be, will he find it with my forgiveness. I tried to sleep, gasping, with my hand pressed above my right eye as though I had been wounded with Werther's pistol belonging to the man that is not me. "Dear Lotte—" But alas, I woke up at last...
Poe-tic