Maybe it was Gray where I started having the delusions that I might live an abnormal life and travel the country instead. Because I read it right there in dark ink.
"
I don't know who to call or what to do, so I just stand there , by the river as guys who have it all figured out jog by in Lycra leggings and tops with patendted Dri-Fit Technology. They said goodbye to their dreams along time ago. They didn't dare to stand up against the current of life and they're content. They're not the ones fantasizing about skipping cell phones off the surfact of the river, or thinking about the blood pooling in their wrists just below a thin layer of skin just waiting to be taken into the light, their trembling hands. They ahve sex, not love. They have careers, not dreams. And they sleep soundly at night they rise early, adn go jogging or throw on expensive suits. Sip coffee with confident, satisfied grins on their faces. Big board meeting today. Briefcases. Windsor knots.
There's nobody who thinks like us - Her and me - anymore. And i'ts probably for good reason. WE are dreamsers. WE worship love, we hope against hope and toss practicality out the window. We blieve in mmagin and ghosts and lies. WE wear each other's clothses. We huddle for warmth. WE were made for fashion, not function. We have a lot of growing up to do.
And suddenly, I realize that I'm sweating. Or maybe crying. Or both. I haven't felt this wa in years. I'm standing there shaking when I decide it's time to call my parents and tell them I'm back in town for the weekend. It's time to tell them that I'm crashing. and I need help. Call the doctors. Bring on the meds. If I'm going to limp through life, I might as well use a chemical crutch. Like I said, times are tough for dreamers."
It hurts. To know he's already grown up and I'm still stuck with these stupid dreams. And I'm stuck with my stupid mind and maybe, just maybe, it might work out like it did for him. But life doesn't make promises.
It never really has.
