Please, Don’t Wake Up

I know your world awaits your return, that you were never meant to be here. Once you open your eyes, I know that you will disappear, never to look back.


It pains me to realize that I shall never again cast a glance upon you. You shall never again listen to my song, and my voice will fade into the winds.


So, please, don’t wake up.


Perhaps it is selfish of me to hope that you would stay. You have fought monsters, worked to rid these lands of the plague wrought in the absence of our sleeping mountain.


Yet, I cannot help but wonder if it is worth saying goodbye. Will you even remember me? Will there come a time when you think back and wonder?


Please, don’t wake up.


Let me sing to you one last time. If you must go, let me weave my melody into your heart, as your smile has entwined with mine.


To find your body washed ashore, to nurse you back to health, your presence here breathed life into me. I am not ready to let go. Please, don’t make me, not just yet.


Please, don’t wake up.


I am scared. You must think it terrible of me to wonder what will become of me when you’re gone. What will become of you? Do you remember who you were before you came here? I cannot remember me.


I feel like this little home, my home, was created to give you shelter when you needed it most. And I would gladly be that for you, time and time again. If only you would stay.


Don’t wake up.

Don’t wake up…


I know it was never meant to be that you could remain here on this sleepy little island. I know you long for home, to return to what was once real. That what we share here cannot be.


I need to let you go.

You need to wake up.

Promise me, then, just one thing?


Don’t forget me.


Image result for link's awakening ending

Kat Vadam is a Copy Editor for Zelda Dungeon. She is an angsty teen trapped in a 31-year-old’s body, and she regrets nothing. Follow her on Twitter!

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