Last night, in my dreams, I was so lost. I was so alone. I couldn't really shake that feeling today. I had forgotten all about the dream, but the feeling remained. Then something reminded me about dreams. . . and it came rushing back in full detail. I used to feel alone quite a bit, but that was some time ago and its not me anymore. Ashley and I were talking about that the other day, the "teenage" phase of "no one understands me and I'm depressed about it and I hate the world and the world doesn't even know I exist". Did you go through that? I remember it well, but I'm not there anymore. I most certainly am not alone and I don't think I ever truly will be. And anyway, my happiness is not dependent on my current company. But last night. . .
It always seems like this one is the one.
And I find it disconcerting that, that, that, each person can be a feeling, a good feeling maybe, a bad one, but un-named. The name of the feeling is yours. And the disconcerting part is that when its a bad feeling, I have no way to stop it. A word, a look, and here it comes. I'll explain: Kaitlynn makes me smile, my heart "wriggles" and the muscles in my arms twitch in a desire to hold her. And just thinking of Kaitlynn or looking at a picture of her makes me feel this way. I could go through the list of everyone and their feelings, but that would be telling you too much. But anyway, back to the bad part. One sentence, and one look, and a small inflection of the voice, and a shift of weight from one foot to the other, and I really don't like the way you make me feel. And all those walls I've built up by time, distance, or cruel words, they don't protect me from the crawling under my skin, the wrinkle of my brow, and the emotions like bile in my throat.
Such as: repulsion, shame, desire, longing, hate, insecurity, hopefulness, disappointment, anger. . .
And that dream. . .
Long halls with so many doors, so many floors and I was searching, searching. And I had to find it/her/he/them quickly because time was short. It was urgent. And I couldn't do it by myself. Too many rooms, not enough time. And it was empty here, crowded there. Gray. I wanted out, out into the sunshine and the green grass and the air that moved and smelled of life, not the gray/eggshell/beige template, metallic recycled air, of the windowless tower of . . . monotony. security. routine.
Anyway, what I feel now is cold, and he makes my cheeks flush with warmth and pleasure.
I wish I had strength and beauty in me.
But I don't.
I hope someone will love me anyway.