the sun looks good on you - solangelo

5- i don't dream anymore

i no longer have vivid dreams about will. i have thoughts and fantasies and that is way more shameful.

and when i say, "fantasy", it's not what you're thinking. weirdo.

sometimes on slow days, i wish he'd come in with his stupid smile and say hello. but i can't expect him to visit shop everyday. he, unlike me, is a human. he has a full fledged life apart from the coffee shop. sometimes when he did visit, i wish he'd stay a little longer. he seemed to come every other day. i'd sometimes catch myself daydreaming about a conversation we might have but never will. and sometimes, only sometimes, i wish i could wake him up from a nap again. just so i could touch another human again. just so i'd have an excuse to call his name and touch his shoulder and feel a live, breathing human. once, i wished the counter standing between us wasn't there so we'd he closer. i wondered what he smelled like.

i kind of wish these fantasies were dirty. at least i'd know what to do with those. but these just sit at the bottom of my subconscious and make me feel strange. as if i were being uprooted. this is so much worse.

but it's nice having something to think about before drifting to sleep other than the vastness of the universe and how lonely i feel in it. or about how the espresso machines needs maintenance and the conversation the man outside is having on the phone. for once, it's my own life and his life that i'm trying to piece together. not the bits and pieces of a stranger that i'll never meet again. it's awful how much i'm enjoying it.

there's a dried scab of where i scratched my skin raw on my hand. it's tiny, hardly noticable. i don't pick at it, but i scratch it when i talk to him. it never fully heals. i turn my hand over and over, watching the light from the window illuminate and cast shadows on my thin fingers. sometimes i look at myself and forget i'm me. but as i turn my hand over and over at night while i'm laying in bed, i watch the scab disappear and reappear into light and i know that it's me. that hand is mine and it is me and i'm controlling it.

it's comforting but also disconcerting at times.

before i know it, it's my day off again. i shouldn't waste it, but my apartment is clean, my dishes are done, my bills are paid, and there are no chores left in the house to be done. perhaps there is laundry, but i don't have enough clothes in the hamper to wash a full load. in fact, i barely own a full load of clothing. i cycle through the same few shirts and the same two pants over and over again. i figure it's evening and the shops are still open.

i should go shopping.

i start feeling sick at the very idea, but i grab my wallet and go anyway. better than wasting away at home.

the metal racks and hangers felt cold against my fingers. they're lifeless and gleaming and frigid. i wanted nothing more than to leave the store, but i had come with a goal in mind and i am no quitter. i lowered my eyes to avoid any encounter with the doting sales clerks that always seem to appear from thin air to ask you if you need help.

i buy a pair of pants and a shirt and i'm satisfied. i hardly had to say a word through the process. i walk aimlessly around the mall, peering into the windows of stores. glowing displays of designer purses, well-dressed manniquins frozen in lifeless poses, and the loud chatter of people shopping. every store feels like a window into another world apart from mine. i don't go into any of them.

i stop at a familiar store and stare. a few years ago, i'd have my nosed pressed against the glass, begging my sister to be able to go in. they sell games, from video games to card games and board games. my stomach drops as i see a shiny package through the window.

a mythomagic limited edition figurine.

there's a little boy begging for it from his mother. she's shaking her head.

my stomach churns as if it were trying to swallow me from the inside out. i don't move. the crowd of oncoming shoppers swerved around my like i were a stone in a river.

i wish i could be excited to see the figurine like the little boy. i wish i could go in and buy it. i wish i could move. a hole opens in my chest and it's engulfing me. i swallow thickly. i try to breathe. my throat feels dry.

i find the will to move and i go home. i can hardly walk, my eyes keep glazing over. the lights and sound of the city mean nothing to me now.

i unlock the door and close it behind me and i find myself surrounded by the familiarity of my own apartment. i allow my self to breathe. the hole in my chest aches. i drop the shopping bag on the ground and crouch. my fingers tangle and grip my hair as i close my eyes tight, with the same force as a tightly closed fist. why did seeing a mythomagic figure affect me so much? my stomach is in knots. seeing it used to bring me so much joy. what happened?

everything is tainted now.

i crawl into my bed and it takes me an hour or maybe more for my thoughts to subside and my mind to slip into sleep. i'm exhausted but my sleep is restless. i don't have any dreams and i am glad.