I’m a different person when I sleep

Sometimes when I wake up I feel like I'm pulling myself into consciousness from a different world, like I'm waking up after a long journey to a foreign country. I'm a different person when I sleep and waking up is throwing myself into a body that isn't really mine.

But am I really that person that I dream in? Am I the girl who's running from demons, being killed by them, sliced in half and burned for a sin that wasn't her fault? Who's kiss can make flowers grow and fruit ripen? Am I the girl who can charm those people with a quirk of her lips? Who's heart is held in his hand? And she can do nothing but watch helplessly as he smirks and throws it in the ocean--she jumps in after it and searches through the glowing fish and dancing seaweed but she can't breathe under water and she can't find the surface, so she chokes and sinks and dies with a startled breath. Am I the girl who can fly? Am I the girl who walks down the street with a red umbrella and white ballet shoes? Am I the girl he loves? Am I the girl he hugs and kisses and twirls around? Am I the one he can't--won't live without? Am I the girl who picks the apple from the tree and takes a bite?

I don't know . . . .