Sometimes

Sometimes she believes that life is good and when she does, she can almost believe it.

And there's a feeling inside that says this is normal and this is life and life is what happens to you when you are waking.

When you are dreaming.

And that's okay.

.

It's what she always wanted, after all. More than anything else.

She knew that if you only believed in what you wanted it would come true. Her father used to say that.

And now that she has all that she wanted it's easy to forget the times her father lied. About the Olympics. About the ballet. About the adoration and the acclaim and about everything else.

She's here now. She's made it.

.

Potential was the word she felt blistered on her flesh. You've got the right potential, Harleen, they all used to say to her whilst smiling and saying nothing at all, just work a little harder and you'll make it. You'll make it.

But she never did.

And eventually she came to realise making it wasn't for her.

.

.

Nights she felt empty, nights she felt dreamless she held him and cried but he never held her back.

Which was as well because after all they were never have supposed to have been together

.

After all.

.

.

And had they ever been?

Somedays it all seemed impossible to her as though she were recalling a dream from which she'd not long awoken.

Recollection would glimmer and fade, softly draining her. By the end of the day she'd be warm and tired.

Her therapist said, and they all said, they all said she only loved him because he was an escape from her own crushing mediocrity.

But through him she could be great.

And she was great, through him.

.

.

But then they'd separated them and it was her and it was him and she was nothing, she was nothing and that's all she'd ever wanted.

Wasn't it?

She felt sure. She felt sure now that's all she ever wanted.

.

.

And he'd touched her sometimes. Sometimes, with his hands. Sometimes with his mouth. Sometimes he'd touched her. Sometimes she'd cried. Sometimes she'd laughed.

And sometimes she felt that she would crumble and disintegrate beneath the weight of what she was feeling. And all feeling was him.

And it wasn't until much later she realised.

.

.

.

Realised she'd been dying and all that time she'd never known.

.

.

.

.

--

I'd love to hear what this one meant to you, or what you think it's about.