Are we there yet: infinity?

She traced the scars on his arm with a finger, as if rethinking the incisions. He slept sound, the kind of sleep that leaves puncture marks.
They laid on the bathroom floor, both for different reasons, still together. He enjoyed the ideal of baptism while she made the most of absolution. She whispered her beautiful childhood dreams and gullible lullaby words to his ear. In response he lay comatose. It’s said when you’re in a coma you can’t hear the world around you. No, you just hope so much that someone sits with you. She knew this was all she could provide him. He’d told her this was enough, she didn't want to believe him. No, she'd always tried to be something more but ended up feeling a lot less. She'd always felt demeaned by her narcotic rival. Almost as if she’d kept losing the same battle and every time her impression was fading a little more, like she was slowly losing his grip. However, she did find a certain amount of trust in herself on those cold tile nights. Even though it was only her dreams that were dictated, they were enough to keep her going. She always reminded herself that dreams could only ever be dreams. She’d once read that dreams were supposed to be ‘out of this world.’ Yeah, that’s what made them so special. They were something to hold on too. The truth is, impossible should stay that way as things are always better in your imagination.