I found the makings of a poem just now. I'm not quite sure when I wrote it and it's still so raw, but it reflects how I am feeling at the moment... I'll hopefully come back to it soon and rework it.
She awakes,
unwillingly shrugging sleep off of her shoulders.
The blanket slides to her side as she sits up
and breathes deeply,
the smell of sleep lingering in the air—
still intoxicating.
She’s drunk on her dreams,
which dully flash to mind.
The colors have dimmed and shapes blurred.
More like she’s hung-over from their brilliance.
Do you see?
Do you see how the waking world
immediately changes the power of the dreams?
Once so vivid and inspiring.
Now they fade in the light of day.
She longs for what she found in them—
for what they found in her.
She wants nothing more than to curl up
in her feather bedding,
this nest of warmth and peace.
But all birds must learn to fly,
so she leaps into a new day.
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