This Dreamlife

It was a faux awakening and I rose from bed to a knocking at my front door and opened it. He was there, grinning like I had never seen him before
and he filled my embrace. I melted in those arms. Then, like children we were running through the trees beating wood swords together, bearing toy bows and arrows; in a playful war with friends I hadn't seen or spoken to in years under a forest canopy. Both young and old. It was bliss, comfortable, safe and surreal. Childlike, innocent and incarnate with love I oft have to force myself to not feel in my waking life lest I disturb the sutures of the eternal wound; one I intend to only reopen once more. And not before our time.

Could I have only dreamt a little longer, perhaps this waking sadness would not be stronger.