Torn Souls

15. If only you knew.

Exactly a week ago, Tuesday, everything had gone out the window. He found himself back in his classes as the end of January approached. He found himself back at the cafe, working between the register and kitchen. He found himself wishing more and more each day that he had listened. That he hadn't of pushed Dream away. He knew it was for the best.

George knew it was for the best because of the strong feelings that grew like a californian wild fire in the drouts of the dry summers. He knew it was best when he looked outside his window and instead of seeing the moon, he saw Dream. The moon reminded him of Dream. He brought comfort. He brought light into the dark.

I won't have him. I can't have him. He's.. he's a ghost it's impossible... I can't live without him. I need him. And he's not here. He's trying to give me space, I know. I pushed him away. This is my fault- my doing. And in these four days, the city has only grown louder and more deafening. And I will admit, not even the boisterous city can block out my screaming for you to come back. But my voice has grown hoarse and my body has grown tired screaming for you. Wishing your presence would magically show up like it had before.

I need him so much. I cannot stop saying it nor will I. I need him. It's the way a human cannot live without water. A human cannot live without the sun. But he's so much more than just a blinding ball of gas. I try not to love him. I try to only see him as a ghost, as an illusion. Maybe even a friend. But I cannot convince myself of anything else. I'm in love. I'm in love with a ghost.

George never understood love. Sure, he had plenty to give. But he never knew how. He was never sure if he actually felt something. But now he was sure. George thought of nothing and nobody except Dream. Not for a second had he left his thoughts. George couldn't escape them and he was okay with that. He started to notice knots growing in his stomach when he longed for the ghost. Butterflies came in and intruded when he thought of the next time he would see him. If there even was a next time.

He wouldn't blame Dream if he never came back. Somewhere in his brain he wished he wouldn't. Everyone heals with time. That's what everyone always says. That's what everyone always thinks. George hoped they were right. But instead he found it only got harder. Matter of fact, with the way it was going, nothing had ever gotten better with time. It'd only gotten worse. From a happy child, with happy parents, with happy relationships to where he stood now. Alone with an almost empty apartment with shattered fragments of who he used to be along with a few peices of cheap furniture.

So wherever Dream went, wherever he had gone, George wanted him back. When Dream was around all of his worries vanished. When Dream was around, a new hope flourished. A hope for the future. A hope for what could be. He was a chance to get away from this life. He wondered if Dream felt the same. He knew it was a long shot. Especially from the reflection of who George saw as himself.

But unfortunately, he wouldn't see what Dream saw. Dream did indeed see a very thin burnet. Yes, Dream did see the scars and cuts that covered the brit's arms. And yes, he did see the under eye bags that were growing into a dark blueish purple color. But he looked past all of it. He only saw George's big doe eyes that glowed the color of honey in the sun, or refleted lights and stars to look like the universe in the night. Dream only saw his soft delicate hands that held so much talent. Instead of seeing a rats nest for hair, he saw soft dark brown mocha colored hair that parted perfectly to the side.

In George, Dream saw the shattered reflection of himself. He wanted nothing more than to hold him close and tell him everything would be alright. He wanted nothing more than to take all of George's problems and make them his own. Just so George wouldn't carry the burden any longer. He didn't care if it was against the rules he didn't care if he would get in trouble, he knew George needed him but he wanted George. He wanted nothing more than to feel the brits hand in his own. He wanted nothing more than to have George tangled in his embrace. He wanted nothing more than to give him soft kisses as he drifted to sleep worry-less. Dream could only hope George felt the same.

As much as he knew better, George was like a word Dream would never forget. A word that was glued, stapled, and duck taped to stay fresh in his mind.