Already Gone

21

just thought I'd say, I'm in no way disrespecting the true meaning to this song. I just was thinking of the song as I began writing this chapter, and thought it fitted.

george

I rolled over in bed, orientating myself. My eyes parted, to see Dream.

He lay on his back, hands rising and falling with his chest as he let the breaths lazily fill his lungs. For some reason, the curtains were open, letting the clouded sun rest on his face, illuminating his lashes and lips. His hair was devastatingly messy but the way it flopped in front of his face was good. We now matched with our eye bags. I was breaking him. But that was what he wanted.

He was pretty.

I didn't remember much from the night before, other than falling asleep whilst attempting to calm Dream. It was uncomfortable, and the fact that we were now in bed together when I had fallen asleep by the front door was a little disturbing.

But I was going to adjust. These were the first few steps forward. Finding someone to be comfortable enough around that I could talk to them about me. Dream was going to be that someone.

Love was difficult. In every circumstance.

Whether it was finding someone to love in the first place, someone who hits your personal standards and needs, someone who was willing to care for you as you care for them, someone who is the human manifestation of your own personal happiness, to be able to put all of your trust and time and love into a person other than yourself.

Love was a powerful force that could bind one person to another without any physical meaning.

It is a philosophical language that's communicated in so many ways that there is no singular way of teaching one to be able to love.

And that was what made it difficult for me.

To George.

I had been trying to learn how to make our love work, learn how to dip between the lines and find a realm where our insanity fitted into a relationship.

But that wouldn't work.

We had to let the love come to us, not us find the love.

We weren't the problem, the dynamic was.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Nine months had passed, since that morning that I woke up to the idea of what love really was. Now I was rolling over, in the same bed, with the same man. Except for this time, we were locked together.

I was wrapped up tightly in his arms, they immersed me. My back was pressed against his bare chest, and I was comfortable. As far as I knew, he was asleep. His soft breaths merged into mine, harmonizing and becoming one. We were linked.

He had his nose buried into my hair, and we were so close that I was convinced that if I moved he would come with me.

We definitely weren't getting up any time soon.

"Dream," I whispered, the thoughts returning. I got no reply. "Dream!" I reiterated, a little louder than last time.

"Yes, baby, what is it." He groaned, still half asleep, but he knew the routine well enough by now that if I was waking him up, there was probably something wrong.

"I need distracting. Please."

Recovery was harder than love. I was doing well, but it wasn't strong enough to be permanent yet. The days felt shorter now, and they usually contained something to be happy about in them now.