Beneath the surface: Forbidden love

Marisela

"Wake up, sweetheart."

I couldn't. I tried.

In that hazy, uncertain realm between slumber and consciousness, I fought with the thick fog that shrouded my thoughts.

My mind felt like a ship lost in the early morning mist, caught in the tug-of-war between the dream world's comforting embrace and the beckoning call of wakefulness. Somewhere deep within, I sensed the distant conversations. One voice in particular stood out, a lifeline back to reality.

He's voice was deep and gruff, pleading with me. My eyelids fluttered, heavy as anchors, and I struggled to break free from the drowsy tendrils that still clung to my awareness. But I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried to fight, I couldn't.

Then there was another voice. This was one was different, soft and kind, but unfamiliar. It felt like the voice was coming from within me. It was distant and fleeting, but apart of me. With each fleeting moment, I fought to claw my way out of the dream's enchanting grasp, yearning to rejoin the conscious world, where responsibilities and daylight awaited.

And yet, it never came.

Every time I felt like I was so close, I kept falling back into the oblivion. Down, down into the darkness.

"You have to fight it sweetheart, wake up."

I'm trying, I'm trying. But the darkness is too much, it's pulling me back. I can't. I can't.