Last night was a battle. One of those nights with plenty of sleep, but absolutely no rest. I’m a vivid dreamer, to the point of truly not being able to differentiate waking life from R.E.M, and sometimes vice versa.
Last night was one that carried consequences on both sides, like the inevitable wet dream that crops up from time to time. I despise wet dreams - but that’s a story for another time. This dream did not involve any sex, just love....the rough kind....the kind that makes the faint of heart shutter....that deviant and ceaseless unrequited love.
Unrequited love is not that bad. It’s really not (if you are able to look at the big picture). There is the eventuality of it being followed up at some point by a return on love, where all things in disharmony lock into place. Your former suffering pales in comparison to the fulfillment of having found a person that values your capacity to love, maybe even equals it.
Now, when unrequited love is the follow up to an utterly pure shared experience of adoration and sweet abandon within one another - when that same person goes from total commitment to having zero desire to even say hello to you, let alone love you, well shit....just....fuck.
Meet Emily. Love of my life. Torturer of my life. I dream with her often. Last night involved spending a night in a dilapidated house with her and her fiance: a very tall, overly friendly man. I didn’t catch his name until the end. The strange part is that nothing eventful really happened. It was just hour upon hour of mindless conversation that I can only describe as forced small talk in an intimate setting. Nightmare.
I would rather the chase of a murderous psychopath,
Than the indifference of a beautiful sociopath.
Still I cannot help but want her. The dream ended with them walking down the road from my house into a huddle of people. A loud voice announced the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Owen Henries. She took his entire....name. Should’ve kept hers.
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