Introduction
Then I Wake Up – A Heart’s Echo in the Quiet
In the hushed moments before dawn, when the world is veiled in shadows and memories dance just beyond reach, I find myself suspended in that fragile boundary between dream and reality. I breathe in the imagined warmth of your presence—your scent lingering in the air, the gentle brush of your fingers across my skin, and the soft whisper of your voice calling my name. In those fleeting moments, the universe seems to align, and the chaos of everyday life fades, giving way to a crystal clarity where nothing matters except our love.
But then reality intrudes: I wake up. The warmth dissipates, the whispers vanish, and instead, I find myself on the cold floor beside our bed—an involuntary exile from the solace I crave. Each dawn brings the same cruel reminder: ever since the night you left, this old house has become a mausoleum of memories. The ticking clock mocks me, days blur into nights, and still—still—I’m in love with who we used to be.
Every night, the ritual repeats. I lay there as the truth seeps in again: you’re gone, the bed feels infinitely empty, and the silence is unbearable. I replay that final night—every whispered “goodbye,” every moment that led to this unbearable stillness. I drift in and out of sleep, haunted by unspoken words and unsaid apologies. In that half-slumber, I dare to believe you don’t drive away, that my heart remains whole, and that someday you’ll return to fill this void.
But morning always comes, and with it, the unrelenting realization that my deepest longings exist only in dreams. You’ve become a precious memory, delicate yet sharp, touching every corner of my mind. I cling to the remnants of what we had—the laughter, the tenderness, the promise of “I love you too.” Yet each sunrise strips away that delicate veneer and replaces it with raw, aching emptiness.
This heartache is tethered to the night, anchored by the echo of your absence. Each day passes, but the ache remains, a constant companion. My dreams are the only sanctuary where our past feels vibrant, unbroken, and tender. And in that fragile dreamscape, I find solace—even if only until I wake up again.
It’s a song of love not lost, but suspended—a longing so fierce it defies the boundaries between sleep and waking, memory and reality. In the delicate crack between dream and dawn, love lingers, refusing to be extinguished by absence or time.