Never Coming Home

She links her arm in yours, movie tickets in hand. The cinema calls with it's promise of another world (where popcorn doesn't cost five dollars). Inside it is cool, such the opposite of the Summer heat that you just left. She glances sidelong toward you, a blush inhabiting her pale cheeks as you catch her staring.

The movie ends as night falls, and you both run from the neon lights; she giggles and you find it cute. Your joined jubilence is contagious as you are joined by others like you; friends and more. Laughter and talking long into the night, she is as a butterfly, a social one at that, flitting from person to person, beautiful wings spread. She does not notice your eyes as they follow her form.

Too soon in seems, the day decides to catch on to all of you, and one by one, sleep consumes. She curls herself in your arms; she smells like roses. You dream of gardens, she dreams of you.

Rain makes its presence known upon the windows as her eyes dart open to the sound of the early morning DJ on her radio alarm. It is dark out still, and for a moment she is confused as to why she is alone.

As she dresses hastily, the dream taunts her, pulling at her conscience. It follows her through her day, every little thing reminding her of something else. She wonders how she differs so in dreams, yet she knows she is the same person.

She longs for night, for sleep, for the bissful illusions that twist around both. Every night the dreams are better; every day the reality is worse.

She does not realize what she has lost until it is too late. Her entire existence is wrapped around the dreams. A brief spark is all, as the coma takes her. She wishes you would save her.

You wonder where she has gone.