polaroid angel - dreamnotfound

˖⋆࿐໋₊ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺-𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦

i wake up in the middle of the night to melodic sounds echoing from outside. the clock on the nightstand tells me that it's half past two in the morning. i fumble around in the dark, looking for a light source. the bed feels empty, the sheets cold and abandonded.

where is dream?

when i've found the switch, allowing the room to bathe in mellow light, all my suspicions are confirmed. he's awake, and he's left the room.

clad in only my black boxer briefs, i slip out of bed to investigate. fresh air hits my bare skin, and i shiver from the contact. maybe getting a robe isn't a bad idea. i've been walking around in them a lot recently. they're practical, and fit my figure nicely. dream likes them too, because it makes it easier for him to touch me whenever he wants. i don't mind, not at all.

i get a plain white one out of the walk-in closet. it hugs my body and gifts me with heat and comfort. i tie it loosely so it'll stay on for the time being.

on my tippy toes i sneak out, pulling the doorhandle down as quietly as possible. the sound is clearer in the hallway, of notes being picked on an electric guitar. my interested is peaked.

wherever i look there's darkness. only hints of light find their way in here from the bustling city outside. the art and photos on the walls seem to stare at me as i walk past. painted landscapes warp and turn from thriving, open fields to arid graveyards. everything makes me feel uneasy. the shadow of a house plant scares me before i realize what it is.

the closer i get to the living room, the louder the notes get. i take a deep breath, peeking around the corner that separates the two spaces.

and there he sits, on the leather couch with a guitar in his lap. i can only see the back of his head and parts of his body from where i'm standing. street lights and billboards from outside allow the lamps in here to be switched off. they're shining in all different kinds of colors, illuminating the room. it looks almost surreal.

his fingers start over, and the pattern changes. i don't recognize the song, yet i get lost in the new melody. on the table in front of him is a rolled up dollar bill. only powder residue is left on the black surface. i don't even flinch. the scene feels ethereal. but i'm not dreaming, and i'm certainly not dead.

i lose my breath as he sings.

"saints protect her now,
come angels of the lord
come angels of unknown."

his voice is so smooth like honey, the words softer than a cat's fur. it's got me mesmerized. i wish he could've shown me this talent of his earlier.

i lean against the wall to keep myself steady. the furniture seems to mix together, all the lines blurring out. he is all i can see. every little movement he makes, when he cranes his head up or down or to the side, when he moves his hand along the neck of the guitar. he's the center of my focus, the center of everything.

he is my everything. but i'm too late.

hot tears trickle down my cheeks. i cry in silence as i watch him play for minutes on end. it's so beautiful that i simply can't look away. my heart hurts, as if a thousand needles have poked holes in it.

my baby. my sweet, sweet baby boy. i love him more than anything else in this cruel world. i wish i could take all his pain away, end his suffering forever. but here i stand, powerless with empty hands.

when the music finally stops i approach him where he's sitting. my feet stick to the wooden floor every time i place them down. dream doesn't react when i take a seat next to him, my face red with stained tears. all he does is blankly stare out the window, a frown glued on. it's like i don't even exist in his world.

"honey?"

my voice is weak and barely audible, but at least it's enough to grab his attention. he observes me with the same emotionless expression. his dark eyes hide a sorrow beyond my reach. they hide something broken and lost that i could never repair.

he puts the guitar down so i can crawl up into his lap. i gladly accept his offer. strong arms embrace my slim body, holding me tight. i use his shoulder as a pillow. my cheeks are wet again.

dream doesn't say a thing. we don't need to speak to understand each other. our body language is enough. our silent stares are enough. i feel every single ounce of his pain, deep in my soul. i can hear his own cry out for help.

my love heals him temporarily, but it's not enough. no matter how many kisses and hugs i give him, no matter how many times i tell him how much i love him, it'll never be enough. it's like putting band aids on a gunshot wound.

my fingers trace his features, sliding along his jawline. i just want to know that he's here with me, that he's still alive. his hand grips the knot on my robe, making it looser than it already was. i let him touch my bare skin underneath the material, let him pet it gently. my eyes fall shut as i enjoy the shivers that run down my spine.

we sit there for what feels like hours until dream shifts around. he retracts his warm hand that felt like heaven on my chest. i look up at him as his head falls back, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling.

"i just wanted to get high.. just one last time..."

both of us know that that's a lie. there's no 'one last time'. it'll keep going, and going, and going. only when his dead corpse lies in my arms will it stop.

my eyes focus back on the coffee table. i want to throw away that little ziplock bag, i want to light it on fire and watch it burn. but it doesn't matter anymore. it's pointless now, for dream has already gone to his happy place.

i can't bear to look anymore. he helps me snuggle closer to him so i don't have to. while stroking my dark brown hair, he starts to sing again. but this time, he sings for me. the same song, though slightly altered.

"saints protect him now,
come angels of the lord
come angels of unknown."