Words, Words, Words

Hand In Hand

Hand In Hand

        The tears slide silently down my face as I lay in my bed, head against my pillow.

        I close my eyes and wish that I were dreaming, that I were somewhere else altogether. I slip into unconsciousness, and then I’m off, floating down the stairs and out the front door of my house, where nothing looks too familiar.

        The lawn is a fresh green, with grass that never dries up and turns yellow, unlike my happiness, which has just been withering away to nothing. The sky is a strong cerulean blue, the clouds light and clear, unlike those of my old world, where they were dark and heavy with rain drops that fell like bricks, smashing and destroying everything in their reckless paths.

        I see my family, who once warred with each other and lived in turmoil, but now laugh and love like it is impossible to do anything else. I see my love, my other half, and he earnestly loves me back, unlike before, where he left me shivering in the cold my heart created, the tears freezing to my cheeks before they could fall completely. I see my friends, laughing and linking arms, and holding out a place for me beside them, beckoning me forward to join them and their entirety.

        This is my new internal world. This is what it’s supposed to be like. This is where I belong. This may be a fake, fantasy world, but it’s my fake fantasy world, and it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever known. I smile widely, joyously, oblivious to the dark clouds that plague the distant sky.

        But inevitably the fragile walls I’ve built around my world start to crumble. The sky darkens and the ground turns muddy with despair. My friends, my family, my love; their faces are a sudden blur. They swiftly disappear back into my heart, as my fantasy world returns to the part of my mind that grants the wishes that life refuses. My dreams spin wildly out of control, too quick for me to grasp, to keep safe, until I find myself rapidly retreating back into my house and up the stairs.

        I open my eyes to my bedroom, my barred cell, characterized only by its various shades of gray. The tears sting as I register that all is the same, that it was just a dream, too good to be true. Without hesitation, I run down the crooked staircase, but in reality this time, for I’ve realized that being an idealist is a futile method of living.

        I rush into the kitchen, and without a pause I find what I’m looking for, the object which I’ve merely stared at countless times before. A few long slits up the length of my arm, and the deed is done. There’s no turning back now. But there is no way I want to ever go back to that horrid place, disguised as a home, where I’m dead inside, but still sentenced to life. Not when I could have so much more, for such a little price. Life is such a small thing to give up, when it’s not really yours to begin with, not really in your control.

        As the darkness seeps into the corners of my eyes, I see them. I see my friends, my family, and my love. I see them, and they’re holding out their hands for me to grasp. As my legs give way, my body goes silent, and my breath ceases to be anything but a dying whisper of thanks on my lips, I grab onto them, vowing to never let go.

        And together we walk, hand in hand, back to my dreams.