Dream

What is it you dream about?
I know you're there, trapped in some eternal dream. That's why you're not with us right now.
You're dreaming, not dead, simply dreaming.
But what is it you see when you're lying there? Do you see the same things I do?
Sometimes, I can faintly remember the days we spent together when I lay with my eyes shut. I know that it was nothing special down here. It was nothing short of an average city, with average people lining the streets, no bright stars, no oceans stretching farther than we could see,
nothing special.
But it felt special when you were here.
In the ugly of this place, I found beauty.

When you were here, you would tell me about your nightmares. How you would lay in bed and think about death. It was hard to sleep with your eyes choking on darkness and your stomach turning as if it were alive inside of you - a seperate creature that had you imprisoned under it's power.
Your dreams were always dark, like a demon howling inside your mind. I hope that's not what you see now. An eternity spent to see your nightmares layed out in front of you. I hope you've gotten better than that. I hope your dreams are half as beautiful as the person you were. That would be nice. That would be enough to keep anyone happy.