but who can decide what they dream
and dream I do...
I'm going back to school on Monday. I'm really glad, actually, because I've felt like a slug these past few weeks... working on Nanowrimo (but not as much as I should be), sleeping late, spending my days watching reruns of Angel and trying to learn web design. All of this has been relatively fruitless.
The sleeping late, part, however, is the part I've enjoyed the least. Surprisingly enough. I enjoy my sleep as much as the next girl, but when it's restful. The dreams haven't gone away.
It's been almost a year. Almost a year and I'm not completely over it, and I'm not getting any better at missing Alex.
Doesn't that mean something, when I can still wake up at two in the morning in tears because I'm lonely? For the one person who understood the concept of words conspiring against people to make you think they don't exist, and when they burst out of hiding, you see them everywhere? (Like "gamut" and "oscillate".) When I'm lonely for the person who was relieved when I cried, who always knew where my back ached the worst, who called me "girlie" and who never quite remembered to hold the door open for me in time? Lonely for the person that I hiked Kiwanis Park with, that I sang with and didn't care if I was perfect or not, that knew how precious it made me feel to have my forehead kissed, that knew just why and how hard I sobbed during Moulin Rouge, every time? Who understood the perfect golden time of day, who understood the stars, who understood why pretending to be someone else could be so important? Shouldn't that mean something?
I don't want anything. My life is happy, it's fine... but it's lacking. Not because I need Alex, but simply because... I've learned how to be complete, and it's something I can't unlearn.
I find him on this other plane, in my dreams, and he's there again. We talk like we used to, or fight like we used to, or find silence like we used to... we take walks in his back field, we play RISK, we drive in his Jeep and sing together, we watch Serendipity, we lay side-by-side on my living room floor and talk. We are better than friends, better than significant others... we transcend stupid titles. We are what we are.
We can never be that.
I was the one who ultimately walked away. I was the one who finalized it all, who requested that we cut ties, that we not speak any more, who staunchly promised herself that there would be no second-guessing this time, that it was done and finished.
Was I wrong? I don't know. Did I save myself pain? In the long run, perhaps I did.
Now it's almost four in the morning and I'm sitting here, hardly able to breathe because I am so lonely for my soulmate. That's what he is. One of my soulmates. The One? I honestly have no idea, not anymore. I honestly don't want to know right now. It's too much. I'm too young, and I'm not ready.
I can't sleep, because I'll dream about him. I can hardly stand to stay awake, because I miss him all the time now. I want him back in my life so much. I don't know what as. I don't care.
I know these dreams won't stop until I see his face again, but I just can't do it. I'm just too afraid of things becoming like they were in the months following our breakup. I'm too afraid of losing the fragile self I've built, but I want to show him. To show him I remember who I am.
I'm so scared.
Match in the gas tank.
Boom-boom.
and dream I do...
I'm going back to school on Monday. I'm really glad, actually, because I've felt like a slug these past few weeks... working on Nanowrimo (but not as much as I should be), sleeping late, spending my days watching reruns of Angel and trying to learn web design. All of this has been relatively fruitless.
The sleeping late, part, however, is the part I've enjoyed the least. Surprisingly enough. I enjoy my sleep as much as the next girl, but when it's restful. The dreams haven't gone away.
It's been almost a year. Almost a year and I'm not completely over it, and I'm not getting any better at missing Alex.
Doesn't that mean something, when I can still wake up at two in the morning in tears because I'm lonely? For the one person who understood the concept of words conspiring against people to make you think they don't exist, and when they burst out of hiding, you see them everywhere? (Like "gamut" and "oscillate".) When I'm lonely for the person who was relieved when I cried, who always knew where my back ached the worst, who called me "girlie" and who never quite remembered to hold the door open for me in time? Lonely for the person that I hiked Kiwanis Park with, that I sang with and didn't care if I was perfect or not, that knew how precious it made me feel to have my forehead kissed, that knew just why and how hard I sobbed during Moulin Rouge, every time? Who understood the perfect golden time of day, who understood the stars, who understood why pretending to be someone else could be so important? Shouldn't that mean something?
I don't want anything. My life is happy, it's fine... but it's lacking. Not because I need Alex, but simply because... I've learned how to be complete, and it's something I can't unlearn.
I find him on this other plane, in my dreams, and he's there again. We talk like we used to, or fight like we used to, or find silence like we used to... we take walks in his back field, we play RISK, we drive in his Jeep and sing together, we watch Serendipity, we lay side-by-side on my living room floor and talk. We are better than friends, better than significant others... we transcend stupid titles. We are what we are.
We can never be that.
I was the one who ultimately walked away. I was the one who finalized it all, who requested that we cut ties, that we not speak any more, who staunchly promised herself that there would be no second-guessing this time, that it was done and finished.
Was I wrong? I don't know. Did I save myself pain? In the long run, perhaps I did.
Now it's almost four in the morning and I'm sitting here, hardly able to breathe because I am so lonely for my soulmate. That's what he is. One of my soulmates. The One? I honestly have no idea, not anymore. I honestly don't want to know right now. It's too much. I'm too young, and I'm not ready.
I can't sleep, because I'll dream about him. I can hardly stand to stay awake, because I miss him all the time now. I want him back in my life so much. I don't know what as. I don't care.
I know these dreams won't stop until I see his face again, but I just can't do it. I'm just too afraid of things becoming like they were in the months following our breakup. I'm too afraid of losing the fragile self I've built, but I want to show him. To show him I remember who I am.
I'm so scared.
Match in the gas tank.
Boom-boom.
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