Laughing

I wake up from this dream with a firm understanding that love isn't guaranteed. My eyes adjust to the light from the alarm clock, its droning buzz begging for my attention. "Time to wake up," it screams in its own language, something that I've come to understand over the years. I ask for another ten minutes, so I can go back into the dream and change everything, but when I wake up next, nothing has. Love isn't guaranteed, not to anyone. It requires staggering coincidence and persistence, and this morning there was nobody next to me to help pretend otherwise. Except for the alarm clock, with its shrill voice cutting through the silence. I'm starting to believe it's laughing.