The shaking of your legs peels back my sleep in layers. You throw off the covers, toss yourself out of bed, stubbing your toe on the night stand, causing the lamp to rattle. You grunt, trying to stay quiet with your pain, and I squint one eye open, watching you navigate the dark.
The words manifest behind my sternum, crawl up my trachea, and gnash at my throat like a trapped animal gnawing its flesh away, desperate for freedom. “It breaks my heart when you lie.”
Outside the window, moon beams glisten across the eiderdown fluff of fresh snow, and you startle at the sound of my voice, small and weary. “I’m not lying.” Tell me lies. Tell me sweet, little lies. Because at least then, you're talking to me.
“And there goes another one.” Just like the other one.
Your silence, verification. Then justification comes, “I don’t want to live this dream anymore.” Life is but a dream, Sweetheart.
“Then wake up.”