[Sandalphon awakens groggily that morning, his eyes meeting resistance when he opens them slowly. The tears that gathered during the dream have dampened his eyelashes, and they cling to his face. An uncomfortable lump, too, has settled in his throat. He sits up and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, wiping away the moisture as he sniffles once.
He isn't sad. There's a chasm in his chest as his hands drop and he stares off into space. There isn't a lot to think about. The dream he just had made a twisted amount of sense.
His cheeks burn and he swallows the lump. The rest of him is numb; his mind, painfully sober.]
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He isn't sad. There's a chasm in his chest as his hands drop and he stares off into space. There isn't a lot to think about. The dream he just had made a twisted amount of sense.
His cheeks burn and he swallows the lump. The rest of him is numb; his mind, painfully sober.]