Sunday’s only regret was you.
He’d tried his best to suppress any feelings he had for you, smothering them within him, keeping them tucked secretly away behind his breast pocket, in the innermost reaches of his heart.
Of course, he would not spare you from the sweet dream. Only he needed to suffer, for everyone else to partake in the sweetest of dreams, cocooned and safe from the harsh realities of the monotonous drudgery of life. He’d alone remain strong, so all the weak could indulge and live life as they wished.
He presided over these dreams, but he did not know the ins and outs of them all, did not know what each individual person wished for, nor what they lived out in the comfort of safety.
And he couldn’t stop his curiosity, you, his sweet little secret respite; what life did you truly wish for above all else?
With the promise he’d never invade the sanctity of your dream again, he peered down, seeking you out amongst a sea of others.
Only to be met with his own visage.
In your dream, you were with him. Laughter and sweet nothings spilled between you, love curled into your forms as if you’d always been together, as if you’d always loved him. As if you needed no other.
With a heavy heart, what if’s and what could have been on the tip of his tongue, he pulled away from the comfort of your dream, bitter on his palate like medicine.
He returned to his gilded cage, hoping for you to remain peacefully asleep in the safety of your dreams.