Even years later, I’d wake up in a panic after dreaming of him—tangled limbs, sweat-soaked sheets, bruising grips, and pounding flesh. It would feel so real for that split second before I fully awoke that I’d choke back a sob when reality washed over me. But the softer, sweeter dreams were the worst, cradling me in such tenderness that my heart broke—again—the second I opened my eyes and realized they weren’t real. Not anymore.
