Woken – The Writings of Tom Grasso

The solitude of this place brings it all home. I can’t tell if this is a dream or not, but I reach for her in the empty spot that is where she should be. I call out her name but hear no reply. I look for her but see nothing. I am utterly alone.

I yearn for the warmth of her body and the sound of her breathing. She’d kill me if I woke her (“pleasant” is not a word that describes her when she awakens) but I’d give anything just to see her there right now. I can feel her without touching her, but I’d almost risk her wrath for even the slightest touch at this moment. Time stands still – a second lasts a lifetime when you are waiting for the next; minutes, hours and days become an eternity when I simply want to be home near those who hold my love and dreams within them. This is the beautiful torture of love.

So, I am here and she is there; a hundred miles becomes a million, the darkness becomes my only sanctuary. I will close my eyes and head back to the peaceful realm of slumber where I can touch her, feel her, and know that she is there. Goodnight my dear, hold me in your heart as I hold you in mine, and miss me as I miss you. I will be home shortly…