"every night, i dream the same way"
and so i told her, "perhaps you should stop leaving me to my own devices. i only dig myself deeper."
and she just smiled, "this is all just what you need."
and she took me out and bought me ginger pear gelato and told me to stop throwing up half-assed walls just because i was scared. anyone worth a damn would see right through them.
and so i slept on it all, tucked it under my mattress and slept right on top of it. my hips digging into the sharp edges. my head resting awkwardly on possibility. my spine jarred by what i want to say.
now, i have a headache, and i've decided that she's half right. now, i have a method to really figure out who's worth a damn, and i can still label my half-assed walls as protection ... not fear.
so, waking up, i find myself quite where i didn't expect myself to be.
lit by a single candle.
music soft and hopeful.
crying and breathing.
it's all where i left it, but the tone has changed. and in the three hours of the waking world without me, someone went and moved things around.
and before i'm even fully awake, i find that thorny pleasant pain of needing to talk to someone but not anyone, and it makes me glad that he was there to answer the phone.
there's comfort in knowing where my cigarettes are. there's something securing in knowing that she's asleep in the next room. there's something allright about not being ok tonight.
when i stop crying, i'm going to sleep just the same. and when i wake up, the change will be apparent in that i got through the day again.
i'll have logged my insecurities and ran them past the necessary mental bureaucrats to begin dealing with them in due process with all of the appropriate paperwork.
the light of the day will have shifted again, just like it did yesterday, but not in the exact manner of blues and golds that it took on in memory.
i'll wake up just the same. i'll lift my arms and stretch out demons, wipe past from my eyes, put my hair behind my ears, and wonder where everybody is today.
