To Him

The Dream

So, I dreamed about you. For the first time.

It started out with you hating me. I can't remember why, but all I know is that you loathed me with all of your being. Any time you saw me, you glared daggers at me with those ice-cold eyes. It's funny how the colour of molten chocolate could freeze my limbs and thaw my heart at the same time.

We were in a hallway - you were on one side, and I opposite you, and I felt myself both shrink back in fear and perk up in desperate hope. All of a sudden, you kissed me. And for a second, I saw that hatred in your eyes waver, and I swore I saw something resembling love in there before you ran away. I remember everyone in the hallway was silent. I guess they knew you hated me too...or, at least, so we all thought.

Time skips, and we're standing in the corner of a large room, wearing suits, with dozens upon dozens of dancing couples surrounding us. Prom, I guess. I don't think we came here together - nor do I think we planned to face each other after that kiss - but there we were again - face to face. The cold edge in your eyes was no longer as harsh as it once was; rather, you looked guarded, careful not to let your emotions show. Maybe you were scared to face how you felt?

Screams broke lose, and we realised that several students in the center of the dancing mass of bodies had pulled out guns. I didn't have any time to process what happened before you swept me away with you, rushing me out of the room and out of the school building. Despite the fact that I had driven myself there, you quickly took me to your truck, buckling me hastily into the passenger's seat before you got in and drove off to your house.

I distinctly remember your hands shaking as you quickly glanced between me and the cars in front of you on the road with a look of fear on your face. What you were scared of, I had no idea - not like I could have processed that at the time, of course, but in retrospect, I wonder if you were scared more about the idea that one of your close friends could have been hurt in the crossfire or that you voluntarily rushed me into your vehicle and was now taking me - me, someone you had shown nothing but animosity towards shortly beforehand - home with you.

Arriving outside of your house, you parked on the street and turned off the ignition to your truck. However, you made no move to unbuckle your seat-belt or head inside; you stood there, looking at your lap. I tried my hardest to say something, but I couldn't. (I guess speaking in dreams is really fucking hard to do lol, I don't think I've ever been able to do that before)

The best I could do was tentatively lay a hand upon your shoulder, but you quickly unbuckled your seat-belt and rushed out of the car. Confused, and a little hurt, I just sat there. I had no idea what to expect. Were you mad at me? Were you going to change your mind and tell me to fuck off? I couldn't tell.

Instead, you walked around, opened the passenger door, and just looked at me, straight into my eyes. I realised that you were crying, but quietly. I remember my eyes widening in acknowledgement, moving quickly, gently, carefully, and hesitantly above all, to wipe the tears from your cheeks as they fell. You made a movement to keep my hand to your cheek for a moment before leaning in to hug me. I was still strapped in to the seat, so it was a bit awkward, but above all else, I think my heart skipped a couple beats. you had buried your face into my neck, crying onto my shoulder and staining my white dress shirt underneath my unbuttoned vest. Definitely didn't mind, though.

You let go, unbuckling my seat-belt and allowing me to step out of the car. You cleared your throat, looking away for a second, before nodding your head to the house and setting off towards the front door. I took that as an invitation, and so I followed you inside. The last thing I remembered before everything changed again was laying down beside you on your bed, with your arm wrapped around my waist as we faced each other, drifting off into sleep.

Afterwards, I remember we were sitting on the floor in front of your living-room television. We weren't wearing any shorts or anything - rather, just T-shirts and our underwear. Alright then, I guess it was weekend pajama attire? Anyways, I leaned on your shoulder, in perfect contentment, and you had wrapped your arms around me without skipping a beat, leaning in to kiss my forehead before we watched the movie.

And that's when I had woken up.

The last time I saw you was at graduation. We had exchanged a few words, but nothing really serious. The underlying flirtatious tone that I always felt was there - as always - but after everything was over, I went my way, and you went yours. I'm pretty sure you're in Montana right now, like you said you would me, visiting some relatives and childhood friends. I'm sure you're happily wearing your cowboy hat, like you always did. You wouldn't be the boy I love without it.

I thought that going our separate ways would be a way for me to forget you, to move on from an unrequited love that probably never would have been. Being a gay guy - or trans girl, or whatever the fuck I am, to be frank - in the South is not an easy thing, and I'm sure that even if you were gay, being out and in a relationship with me very possibly could have risked your athletic scholarships. Sucks, but it's a reality.

I hoped the distance would be the cure, for me to realise that maybe I was just imagining all of those little moments, those little sparks, and break from my reverie.

Turns out, I'm still head over fucking heels for you, dude. I guess I'll always be. This damn dream only brought all of these feelings back to the surface. Maybe these letters will allow me to vent...maybe one day you'll read them. Who fucking knows.

I guess I'll keep writing whenever I remember something about you, or if I have any more dreams.

Je doute que tu saches à quel point je t'aime.
J'espère qu'un jour tu t'en rendras compte. Sinon, pas grand-chose alors.

Peut-être que je ne suis qu'un incorrigible romantique. Qui sait, en vrai ?

With more love than you'll ever know, perhaps,
moi