Waking up and seeing reality was like having my heart broken all over again, like she was being torn from me over and over and I had no power to stop it. Soon, the difference between dream and reality began to fade. Until, I could no longer tell which was which. My heart would long to believe each dream, each one had a different element of truth, so they were just close enough to be believable. But each one also had one giant, stinking lie. That she was there. That she was alive. That the rest of what had happened hadn't been reality, but rather a nightmare. Then I would always awake to my nightmare. And with this nightmare, no matter how hard I tried, going back to sleep didn't help any. It never changed anything. All it did, was put off reality for a little bit longer, and allowed the line to blur.