Floating on Daydreams

Nightmare

"I dreamed of you yesterday," you used to say. Well, I'm returning the favor. I dreamed of you yesterday.  I dreamed I was gazing at your starry eyes and running my hands through your thundercloud hair and listening to the lilt in your summer breeze voice.

I know now why I've always loved the winter. There is cold comfort in solitude.

I was naive, wrapped in cotton cloth and a misconception of who you really were. I let the stardust on your skin infect me, not aware of the fact that the more glamorous and alluring the gold in your eyes was, the more crimson rain would pour from every inch of my body when you realized you could do better than a worthless piece of scrap metal that's been beaten up so much, no one can identify it's source.

You made me want to be a better person. No, really.  You made me want to be better than the girl I was (and still am), the girl who believed she was ugly and stupid and useless and unwanted when you brushed me off like I was chalk dust on your shoulder. You had to focus on your studies, you said.  I believe you, because I know that you've been studying alcohol very carefully.  I hope that works out for you.

You're the reason I speak in metaphors more often than I should.  You're the reason I feel the weight of every word I say as it travels the world in my mind, past checkpoints that ensure they will never bring anyone pain, so they're galaxies away from your words, words that brought in a hurricane of angst with their arrival, lashing at me like a sugar coated whip. You're the reason I'm afraid to love, because to do so may lead to me being forced to accept that it is possible to be found good, no, amazing, by someone who is not obligated to shower me with unconditional positive regard. And how am I supposed to accept something like that when I don't enjoy my own company, when I feel repulsed by my own reflection?

You are the reason I scraped the side of my face on ground that ceased to exist once my tainted skin touched it. You see? Even things that don't have physical form can be malignant, in fact, jealousy drives them to be the most spiteful things that they can be.

But I digress. I dreamed of you yesterday, with your honey eyes and lemonade smile.  I dreamed of your mellow laugh with your crinkled up eyes and your stupid charm.

I hate you.

Does that make you care?