fake:

on the plane back i fell asleep. in my dream, she was there.

tall and young, in that thin, worn cotton dress she had on the first time her brother introduced us.

she never asked me about her, we never talked about her, but she always knew, i think.

i woke up. i thought about her.

it was not that i was never in love with her. i was. it was deep, too, and there were days i would see her in the garden after i finished work, the love was there. i saw her having my child, and i wanted that.

there was always her, though, this other woman in the back of my head, this woman who pushed me and put a fire into me.

i could have been happy living with my wife. i could have grown old and died next to her in that small white house. it was home.

but now i'm here, in this apartment, on this couch, and less than fifty feet away she is sleeping.

i'm torn. i would give anything to be back with her, asleep in our bed she's had since childhood, to watch her laugh again at her brothers' wild stories.

to make love to her as it rained again.

but she was the one who calmed me. she was the one who taught me that things happen as they're supposed to. i am here, now, for a reason.

for peace, maybe. for an ending to this fire that never quite died in me.