Sometimes I dream in paintings; wet. Dripping blue and black and red. Sometimes I dream in black and white, painted over in regret. Sometimes I dream of you and me, and the things I never said. Those dreams, I fear, are the ones that hurt, leaving echoes in my head. There are things, at times, that I miss in life, that I cannot bear to bring to mind. The people, most; which are lost to me, fallen through in careless times. And careless as I was with you, I miss holding your hand. I miss kissing your cornered mouth, and I miss the way we’d plan. But I miss the most, the chances lost, that I could have made it right. But I could not bear to count me wrong, so now I toss and turn at night.