In my dreams

I went to the health-club with two friends and you and her were there. She never walked with you, but as you were leaving, you picked her up like a child as you ignored me, despite the fact I knew you knew I was there.

To my surprise, later that dream, you arrived to my childhood home and started acting all lovey-dovey with me. You brought me a GameCube in a tattered plastic bag. You said things that made me believe you had changed. The system looked like it was missing a cable and so I said something, and you shrugged. I carried it over to the bar in the kitchen and I showed you my other consoles under the tv and you didn’t seem to care as much as I hoped you would. We perched on the barstool I used to sit on as a child, somehow both sitting and laying down together on the tiny surface of one stool.

While I played video games you started to touch me. I enjoyed it at first, it felt very skillful, patient, maybe even what loving is supposed to feel like. I liked the attention, but I noticed myself beginning to feel hollow, silent, even when you touched me in ways I knew were too fast, too intimate for the little time you had been back into my life. I didn’t say any of that. I still latched onto you.

Eventually we needed to go on other adventures in my mind. I had traveling to do, and you chose not to come with me, so I was on my own, meeting strangers, and becoming familiar with two or three women I blended in around well enough. I told you where to find me and you left, and I didn’t believe you would actually arrive on the other side.

After car chases, and disgruntled inter personalities, I arrived at the new destination surrounded by scroungey people, where I felt comfortable. I lounged around until you actually walked down the stairs. You had unwritten stories tattooed all over you and refused to tell any of them, but I thought you’d never come back. And you did. That made your arrival more of a pleasant surprise. It was like you didn’t mean to hit on those other girls, regretted looking over my shoulder for someone more important to talk to, but that you really wanted to come back to me.

I latched onto you some more, as you grew increasingly more like a fuck boy. My phone and other belongings seemed to always be gone, but I didn’t notice because I was lost in scrolling you. I watched you rolling around on the floor, mixing the occasional gender risk, touching, validating, laughing, smiling. I desperately wanted to have all those shared moments.

I woke and you hadn’t slept. Laid there on the floor, ice sheets collected around you. I broke them off the bed, ripping them off in pieces on the floor. You didn’t seem to notice them or care, you just kept rolling there, in your leotards, growing increasingly distant from me despite your sexual air.

I got up to find my phone and I saw you putting on jackets. Your five o clock shadow most pronounced, your sleepless heavy eyes weighing down your face I still loved. As we walked out, you handed other women large sheets of paper with your phone number. I decided you can walk yourself the rest of the way out of the basement and this house.

I found my things that I left misplaced, uncared for, distraught, and I woke up to live again.

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