I was asleep and she loved me.
She was alive. I was asleep.
We walked down the train platform.
She chose a carriage and got in.
Leaning out of the window.
Looking down. She saw me. She loved me.
I was asleep. She went. Back home. North.
I stayed in London. She had valued me.
This resounded in my mind.
I was enticed by this alternate possibility of living.
Of being someone valued as I did not yet value myself.
We met many more times.
In many different places.
Sunny days.
Always she was there. Alive.
Transforming the day, the time.
And then she wasn’t.
And I began a different dream.
Fifty years later, suddenly missing her, I am awake.