My problem at night is that my dreams are too real,
Vivid swathes of vague lucidity, playing out in a parallel world.
Thoughts drift to what's past and could have been,
Intertwined with a future unseen.
I find myself living out two separate existences,
So hard to prize apart that they melt into one.
At night she's there, tantalisingly near,
Yet always at arm's length until dawn cements that fear.
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