It's four-thirty in the morning.
Tonight, I was so exhausted that I actually fell asleep at one AM (the earliest time I've fallen asleep in WEEKS); however, I was jolted awake by a dream that I had about you. I woke up from it, crying. Now, I'm not even the least bit tired.
In the nightmare, you were larger than you are, and you wore a heavy black hood that shielded your face from me. I could not make out your features; you were mostly unrecognizable (much like you are, right now), but somehow, underneath the toughness of your exterior, I knew it was you.
I cried because when I recognized you, it was much too late to hold you, or to grasp onto your hands. You were already being pulled into the shadows by the rest of the people in black hoods. You were hand in hand with another girl, and as fast as I ran, I could not catch up with you. While your voice grew further and further away from my screams and sobs, my legs began to give. I finally collapsed onto the icy cold concrete below me. Around me, there was vast nothingness. By then, I could not even see you anymore. I was alone in the most desolate silence.
I couldn't stop crying.
... But I knew that I had to let you go.
