thrill-seeker, cake eater

I must have woken up at least a dozen times,
those instances layered with our goodbyes,
as I dreamt about them at least eight more times
but as soon as you left I fell into the deepest slumber in the past few weeks
maybe not as sound as in your arms but
better than that night I spent contemplating the weight of the world on the frame
I wished I could call tiny
I dreamt about a girl, who
would spend subway rides observing people and writing their stories,
there was that subservient-looking office worker in a chiffon dress and white patent heels,
who she imagined to be returning home to a middle-aged insurance agent and a single child
on some days when, her skirt kept riding up or,
she felt her top stretched too tight over her abdomen,
the girl would take the middle seat
the only one that wouldn't allow her the sight of her reflection
on other days, she'd stand
her crooked frame leaning against the glass panel;
the only thing separating her from an absolute stranger,
it made her think about how that stranger could be;
her future boss, her arch enemy, a shoulder to cry on
one Saturday evening when love decides to let you down and familiarity settles into
an unmistakable fog in the air
This girl I dreamt about,
was as much me as I was her.