By Maaaaa

There was a time when waking was nothing more than not sleeping.

My bed was unshared; the loft was quiet and bleak, my existence tedious, my heart empty, my soul lost.

There was a time when waking was a never-ending state of frayed senses.

Lights too bright, sounds too loud, scents malodorous, tastes overpowering, touch irritating.

There was a time when waking meant only that the nightmares were not imagined and the pain was real.

There was no light in my life, no purpose, no love.

There was a time when I did not have Blair.

Fin

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