If you'd just turn around, come back.

I had those rubber gloves on my hands, and I was cleaning a massive wound on the back of his right knee. The ward was dark and the patients were sound asleep, with him on his side, looking up at me with sad, calm eyes.

"If it still hurts, but nothing happens, can I go home then?"

I had no answers for a query too familiar. I nodded deftly and he laid for sleep. I knelt at his feet and then I was crying that awful wailing cry I did once before. He did his usual soft ruffling of my hair, and that warm hug that suddenly felt so distant. Much too close to reality. Too close for comfort. Its what I've missed the most. Home.

When you dream about a loss, its bittersweet because eventhough you yearn, its of good sweet nature that keeps you reminiscing. But when the dream gets too close to reality, for whatever reasons, its too bitter to be sweet that you find no reason to smile at the thought but you'd catch yourself choking because instead of sweet reminisce, it stabs you point blank in the weakest corner of your heart.

I had that dream, of my dad, and I woke up with a jerk that for a moment I didn't know if I should cry or bury my head deeper into my pillow and let dreamless sleep try to consume me. I ended up curled in the corner crying and wishing for dreams to just stop and leave the memories for much sweeter moments.

1107 and a text came in, a friend asking for lunch. Just what I needed. =)