by Santajah Douglass
Breathing in his scent—
A comforting blend of worn-in books and scented candles—
She longs for more than a fading illusion.
All she has ever wanted is to hold him close
And pour out the unconditional love she was never granted.
She doesn’t crave the vanity of expensive dates
Or the artificial shine of new cars;
She hungers for the quiet rhythm of a shared life—
Cooking, cleaning, and the simple, sacred gift
Of communication.
In this dream, his eyes never wander,
And his heart is a fortress that never betrays her.
He doesn’t demand children at the expense of their soul-deep bond;
This man yearns to be held, seeking the same reassurance he gives:
That they are each other’s only North Star
Through life’s brutal peaks and troughs.
He is the rock that keeps her anchored
When the world tries to sweep her away.
He’d spin her dizzy after dinner,
His laughter a melody that repairs her broken parts;
They’d sing until their hearts overflowed
As stars sharpened in the night sky.
He wouldn’t need to be a scholar,
Only a man who appreciates her sanctuary of reading
And the profound beauty of sitting in the dark—
Silent and safe, by her side.
When the shadows stretch and exhaustion settles,
She finds him there—not demanding service, but offering it.
He is on his knees, hands in the dishwater,
His gentle kisses a silent vow of her desirability.
A partner who views vulnerability
As a bridge rather than a weakness.
Then, the air thins.
The warmth of his phantom hand on her cheek turns to ice.
The realization doesn’t just dawn; it strikes.
It is a violent, stinging slap of truth
That cracks the silence of her bedroom.
She is jolted awake, skin tingling from the blow.
The man who washes the dishes,
The man who stays, the man who listens—
Does not exist.
The emptiness is a physical weight,
A hollow ache that screams to be filled.
She sits in the cold light, staring at the space beside her,
Trying to reconcile the heart that refuses to stop hoping
With the mind that must now face the facts.
She is mourning a ghost who never had a heartbeat.
She wraps her arms around herself,
Trying to preserve the fading heat of a man
Who should have been, who could have been.
His absence is a deafening roar,
A void where a soulmate was supposed to stand.
He haunts her now, a cruel benchmark
For a love she fears is out of reach.
She is left in the wreckage of her own idealism,
Her heart shattered by the jagged truth.
The man she needed is a mirage
That evaporated with the morning mist.
She is left to pick up the pieces,
Standing alone in the dawn,
Grieving a dream that was so vivid,
It felt like a memory.
It made it feel like actual gentle genuine love;
It couldn’t have all been a dream… could it?
Santajah Douglass is a writer and poet based in Youngstown, Ohio, who explores the intricacies of the human experience through her work. She is a graduate of Youngstown State University, where she earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in psychology. During her time at the university, she served as the president of the Youngstown State University Poetry Club, fostering a community for fellow creative voices.
Her literary presence is established through various platforms, most notably her personal blog, Douglass-True, where she shares her “words of truth.” Her poetry has gained professional recognition, including being featured in the 23rd issue of Jenny magazine. She is also a frequent contributor to the online community My Poetic Side, where she regularly publishes new work.
Santajah’s writing often focuses on themes of self-discovery, resilience, and the interconnectedness of nature and the soul. Her work reflects a commitment to authenticity, frequently exploring the balance between personal power and vulnerability, and utilizing her background in psychology to bring depth and insight to her poetic narratives.