The Singer

 My mind stretches down a long road, driving in the night, only the headlights reflecting the yellow stripes in the road. The glow of the lights on the dash used to bother me. I want darkness, but the blue LEDs refuse to comply. I stare, barely registering the continuous movement. I am moving forward, drifting. There isn't a feeling of doom, alarm is not present. I wonder why at times that there are motions pushing me where I do not wish to go. I am beginning to think that when I ask, I receive, but it's always twisted a bit. The 'be careful what you wish for's are louder than I intend. Message acquired. I feel like I'm making specific asks. I'm getting lumpy shapes rather than a princess cut. I still dream. Vivid colors, smells, tastes. It's gotten more realistic and also more strange. I dreamt once that you texted me that you were sorry. That you should have been kinder. That you shouldn't have said goodbye. It didn't feel like you wanted me. Just that you wanted me to know you were sorry. I opened the message. Made to respond. Deleted. Distracted. never sent. I woke up feeling like I had the opportunity to let you know that I was still angry. I wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself.

I found myself on the cold tile, my mind trying to wrap around the words. You couldn't be bothered to leave your house. Why do I even engage?I let hot warm tears well up and roll gently, quietly, downward. The tops of my breasts, a final resting place for the salty spots forming. It felt good to let go of him. He wasn't anything to me at all. I knew it was trouble for me the moment he kissed me. I guess I was bored. Wanted attention. I let him know that I was aware of his type. He tried to argue politics with me, but failed. He forgot that I was charming. Clever. Funny. Ambitious. It was like he rediscovered what I had already shown him. I pulled up my skirt, ever so slowly, up to the edge of my panties as I walked out the door. I'm just complimenting you. I want to date you. Thank you for the compliments, I said to the snake.

You should have been a lawyer. Or maybe something more dignified. You have the ability to conduct a symphony of emotions. Stir excitement, crash with guilt, a tiny flutter of self loathing, ignite the crowd in a storm of fury! To hold such power is the game of a devil. You could build love stories that would swell the loins of teenagers everywhere. Instead, you slide your fingers against my chin, while slowly the tip of your knife slides between my ribs, resting until you need it to be brought to attention. I focus in your eyes, finding nothing in the ring around your pupils. I tried writing about you. It was decades ago. There wasn't anything inside of you but blackness. Dark pools of muck, sticky tar that poses as depth. The reflection of myself, I saw stuck in it. Writhing in ecstasy, until I realized it was pain. A lifetime trapped by my own curiosity. A feline, dead hundreds of times before I remembered to hiss back. The bathtub filled with your hatred, bound to the guilt I felt of simply being a child at the hands of an abuser. Not understanding the way out. Blinded by the clogged drain. A white room filled to the brim with darkness.

Then I find you in my dreams. You were a shadow. A tall man in the background. I knew you were watching me. I let you. 

I wake and I'm angry. 

I want more of that feeling back. I want to smell you, feel your warmth. Kiss the edge of your chin so gently, the edge of your lips move, a barely audible moan of pleasure. You laid with me all day. Soaking in the feel of me. You hugged me harder than you ever did before. You watched me more closely. You enjoyed my body. Felt my skin. Bit the inside of my thigh. Kissed my neck. Whispered in my ear, from behind, I love you.

I sigh it away. It's a lifetime ago. 

I keep moving forward. Sometimes it seems to help.

I wonder when I see his name pop up on my screen, should I laugh or cry? My heart warms. I hate that I don't feel that way about the first message. I don't get the same feeling. It's just a message. Not a feeling. It's strange to ask for so much, expect the world, be given a galaxy... but... It's just him. It's not you. My heart isn't in it like that. How can I say that any man can live up to that feeling? I was shown heaven and given the world. I understand why that man would sell it. Nothing compares to you. If I could trade a galaxy for you, would I? 

Probably.        Quite pathetically. 

I answer to no one. Draw a clear, hot, salty bath. Engulf myself into words I can disappear into. Fate and Time searching for each other for so long, I wonder how often they found each other... Destroying space that lingered for lifetimes. Just so they could both meet. I want to laugh. I want to cry. 

Do I want you in my dreams or not? I can't hardly say. It's like a drug, feeling the connection that spans across eternity. The echo of a heart beat bouncing back and forth. I wonder why it's been quiet lately. Is it because I'm being given space to deal? Am I using this time wisely? Or frivolously? I wanted my degree. I asked for it first. I still never know whether the grass is greener. Does it matter? I don't suppose if I have some grass under my feet. I've been given time to fall back into place. I'm just so tired.