Sleeper

Last night, No, I think two weeks ago, I dreamed that I finally got my time alone with you. Something that I only got for one hour, back when I knew you. Except this time, I knew I would never get this chance again, and I kissed you. I kissed you soft, I told you I Loved You, I looked in your eyes and told you to come. Come here, come now. It's never too soon. Abandon them, come, come here, live with me, live near me, speak to me, breathe.
But this is all a lie. In my dream, I never did it. I was just as small as in real life, and I never touched your lips. But I did dream of you, I dreamed I was in a mansion, and when my friends tried to talk to me, I simply told them that I would never get this chance again. I told them to leave, that I needed to tell you I loved you, I needed to kiss you. Just once. Just once before the elevator doors closed and I never saw you again. I never saw you again. I never saw you again. I stepped out, and I looked back, but you were already gone. Dropped down to floors below me, dropped off the edge of the world.
But now, reality and everything outside are blurring, combining, telling me wrong things, lying of what happened.
The only thing I know for sure is I never kissed you.
But I still search for signs. I try to prove you were real. I grasp for some memory of a four-in-the-morning embrace, a brief moment of contact, those six seconds between floors when I could have.
Before the doors closed, and you fell out of existence.
And now, I sit for hours, looking for you. Looking for your voice, your face, anything. And here, in the middle of winter, the middle of a mansion, the middle of the ocean, the power went out.
I turned on the radio.
The power went out.
I turned on the radio.
The power went out.
I turned on the radio.
I heard a voice.