the poet

the dreams in which i'm dying

the following week, on wednesday morning exact, i found myself standing by the railing on the river. 

my eyes felt heavy, my back aching, with a dull pain in my chest. a void so hollow it was eating my body inside out. 

the sun peaked at me from behind the river, smiling at my misery. 

"how long do we have to do this?" leila mumbled, half-asleep, from a bench behind me. 

earlier that morning she caught me tiptoeing to the main door and demanded i take her along.

"this reminds me of waking up at 5 am for ballet before school," leila said, her voice drifting into the river, "do you remember how we would talk nonstop between breaks, you, me, anna and the other girls -- what were their names again?" she snapped her fingers, trying to remember their names. 

"natasha and," i paused, trying to pinpoint the other's name, "tara, i think." 

"ah yes, the girls from bernard's" leila pulled her feet on the bench, crossing her legs, "they were so posh and shiny" 

her voice was starting to echo inside of me, scratching on the walls of my insides. the sound of the ducks, the empty city, and that damn sun -- it was starting to annoy me. 

"mathias loved ballet, too bad he got bullied out of it--" 

i tried to shut it out. her voice, the ache in my back, the banging in my chest -- i was trying hard to let it die down inside of me, like everything else i'd felt or experienced the last two years had. 

"what was that boy's name again? who had a crush on mathias? --" 

"h-heath" i choked out, tears gliding down my face but leila hadn't noticed yet and so she went on. 

"i mean everyone knew you and mathias liked each other it was kinda bold of him to hit on mathias -- also isn't mathias like, boringly straight? like it's a little disgusting how boyish he is--" 

my hands tightened their grip around the railing, vision shaking slightly as i clenched my teeth. 

this hadn't happened in a while and i was most worried about bursting open in front of leila but at the moment, that morning, the city drove me to my limit. i was so in love with the city. the brick paths, the old trees. all the people it had introduced me to, the train, the ducks, the long walks i took around it. the city made me feel so alive, so at home. i was so in love with the city. 

it was all so sudden, so violently abrupt. a harsh wail left my mouth, turning into an angry scream towards the end -- somewhat like a battle cry. tears running into my mouth, eyes looking for some sort of salvation. 

somewhere along my manic crying, leila had grabbed my waist and began begging me to calm down. her death like clutch frantically tried to pull me away from the river, my beautiful river. 

before i knew it, i found myself laying on your bed, with a wall of pillows on both my sides. 

"you need help" you muttered, sitting on the foot of the bed, back towards me. 

"who's gonna help me?" i scoffed, "we're all alone in this world." 

"a therapist maybe" you stated matter of factly, "you need help and this has gone beyond my reach." 

i pulled my lips down in a funny frown and turned to look out your window, " a little harsh, but i suppose you're right."

"i'm just being realistic," you said. 

"since when are musicians realistic?" i grumbled, my soar throat about to give up any minute. 

"musicians tend to become realists when their girlfriends throw a manic tantrum at 4 am by the river."