I woke up in the morning, a strange dream on my lips. 'It's scary,' I said, but you pulled me to your chest. I cried. You told me it wasn't real, but it felt so real. And that's when I realized: I fear you leaving me, more so than I had previously thought. So much so that this fear I held in my heart, which exploded in my dream, refused to leave even after I woke. Here are the things I only admit to myself in private, on such occasions: I could survive you leaving me. I could. But I survive it as only half a person. I have given you half of myself. And so, to lose you, I fear, means to lose myself as well.