The flood of memories have ended. It's just you and me now. Just a 14 year old and their… what even ARE you? It is obviously not normal to have someone knowing you and your every thought and never ever stop being with you ever. I wonder… are you some kind of angel? I don't think so. Mom says angels come in many forms, but the ones you and I have read about never seem to be like you. I really enjoy your company. Sometimes you're in my dreams and we talk face to face. You like those dreams because then you're not a simple spectator. Of course there are the times when you stroke my hair and hold my hand but then they're just sensations. But in the dreams I get to speak with you and really see and touch you. “Dinner!” Mom is calling. I wonder what it is. Hopefully not like that failed casserole she made when Grandpa came. That was a disaster. Remember? I wish you could talk to me when we're not dreaming. All I get is an occasional one of your thoughts. You get all mine. I can feel it. “How was your day” Mom asks as I enter. Instead of answering her, “Yippee! Chicken Parmesan sooouup!” I cry crashing into my seat. “Yes indeed. Now settle down! I asked you how your day was!” Mom laughs. What should I tell her? It was a storm day. Remember when we named bad days storm days? The thought just popped right into my mind. I know you gave it to me. I smiled, hopefully at you, and then I felt your presence snuggling in by me and stroking my hair. That was a better day than today. I drugged through school, received a 64 on my math test, and basically doodled the day away. I couldn't even fake a smile. Now I'm doing it for mom. “It was good”, I lie. I can feel you cheering me on. I get a warm sensation when I think about you. I shake it off. I finish dinner, which is delicious, as usual. The only dish my mom failed was that casserole. Now it's time for bed. I know you will be with me the whole night, but I can't stop the fear that's creeping in on me. Fear that shouldn't be there. It just. Shouldn't. I'm not even afraid of anything in particular. I feel the sensation of your hand on my shoulder, and I can't help smiling. I feel happy when you comfort me. I feel warm when you are happy pops into my head. “Thank you” I whisper, as I climb into bed and turn out the light. Tomorrow will be better. It has to be. But for now. Sleep.
