I wake up dead

I’ll set the scene. Painted bricks, yellow. All four walls. The carpet stained, on purpose maybe. ART. A waiter whose name escapes my memory but I remember laughing at. He was quiet. Insecure. He made me feel zero. I was dressed, a child. I had woken up and thought, I feel innocent. So I chose my naivest clothes and pulled them over my monstrous body. A walking oxymoron. She walked in. An hour late – perfectly on time. And I hovered over my seat in my dungarees. She walked past and ordered a mocha. And a scone. My eyes burnt in the light of her yellow dress. Matching the walls she stands camouflaged. She ignores me like every day. The perfect summer morning to my perfect summer love.

I wake up dead,

Eyes shut, wide open.

Breathing steady, stopped.

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