It had to be a dream because I couldn’t actually feel the pain I knew I should be experiencing. I opened my eyes. Everything was so dark, and I was trying to adjust them so I could see. When my eyes were finally able to focus, I realized I was in my own bed at home. The sheets were soaked with sweat, and I was cold and uncomfortable. I sat up and ran my hand through my hair. I remembered he was no longer in the room next to mine and began crying over his loss again. All of the pain rushed through me at once. My heart felt like it immediately stopped beating. It seemed each time I remembered he was gone; the shock of it hit me as freshly as it had when he walked out the door. I imagined it must be like that for a widow. Wake up from dreaming of your love, only to be hit with the hard reality they were gone and never coming back again. It must be torture. It was for me. I pulled myself out of bed, feeling the uncontrollable urge to be in his room, as though it would let me feel him with me somehow.
