Still dreaming?

A shout stirs me from sinking stupor.

A shout. But from who? Would it be you? Can it be you?

Is it really from you?

There, I hear it again. It is a shout, a shout undeniably from you. But I don't know if you are shouting for me. I cannot hear what you are shouting for. I'm hoping it is for me, for me to survive and for me to be by your side. It has to be. Am I wrong?

I have to be correct. Don't I?

Beaten and broken, lost and forsaken, I scavenge what remains of me, if any. I hold tremulously and tenderly the little, flimsy hope that she is calling out to me.

No one, but me.