On nights when I toss and turn.                                      There are no cold sides left on my pillow,

I imagine I’m a maiden that’s been sent off across the sizzling pink pond. 

I imagine they sent me here to find a better life. 

I force my heart to believe mothers sending me letters, I just can’t receive. 

She tells me how she misses me.

Each letter she writes gets dumped in the pink foam before I hold it in my hands. 

Dreams of mother calling out to me as I wander the lavender fields I now reside in. 

I build a world in my mind where we aren’t simply seven miles apart. 

I dream of a place where mother abandons all else to come find me. 

And tells me, 

She will always want me. 

And in this place,

I try to take my rest. 

But, It is not real, 

Mother does not write.

And I eventually sleep, 

deciding it’s okay if it aches today.