Just feel it. Just go about it like you have always been able to tap into extroverted energy. You know what that is like. Right? People come at you all the time with it. It will work. Sure. Sure. Sure.
I kept trying to think about it. I slipped into a realm. Something different. Something that was outside of my normal plane. Oh. This is that place. The place where I don't want to be. Usually. I have found comfort here sometimes. But it always turns sour. Like a demon waiting to capture me, suck me whole. Leave me a shell. It started out as a feeling. It felt so real. I wanted it. I wanted that real feeling. The hand on the back of my head, my hand on the back of it's head. It felt like times before... but different. More real. Because it wasn't a dream. It was something else. A world that I have been to. I was floating. A ball of nothingness. Energy. I was kissing or sharing that sort of feeling. I suddenly felt the need to leave. I ducked out of the embrace. Out of the plane. He tried to grab me and he ran his fist along my spine. It was hard. It hurt. I yelped, but all that came out was a mouthful of spew. I kept it in my mouth. I was back in dreams. I was in a bed. Not my own. A dark room with dark curtains. I got here. What was I doing before? Was I drinking? Drunk? At a party? Who's house was this again? What dream was I having before the astral plane? I got out of the bed. It was the middle of the night. I tried to be quiet. Tried every door. I needed a bathroom. Somewhere to dump this feeling. This vomit. The mouthful of bile. I couldn't find anywhere to put it. Just more doors. More rooms. More places that couldn't help me. The first person I ran into was in the room of bubbles. All the bubbles were blocks. They were stacked together in cubes. A giant wall of bubbles. I felt trapped. How could I pop something so beautiful? I still had a mouthful of throw up. It was starting to fill with spit I couldn't swallow, too. I opened a door and I was outside. It was my car. "This is my car!" I said to the driver. He stopped driving, because I had opened the door. It was my yellow car. The door had a yellow stripe at the top. I had spit my mouthful to talk all over the inside handle. Two men, one from the passenger seat, one from the driver's seat, looked at me, shocked. I was finally able to spit, so I opened the door more and spit on the ground. It was daytime, but I still felt like it was the middle of the night. The extra bits, the chunks, were rolling down the door. I had spit some on the floor board, too. I looked back up at them and they looked at me with pain and sorrow. "This is my car." I said again. I blinked. I was in a bus. It was a trip. We were visiting someplace. It was a museum. A school trip. Then there was rooms and inside each room was another set of things. Things that seemed to amaze others, but bored me. I ended up in the basement. There were tables with folding chairs. Neon lights that glowed through the fog. Blue and pink. He looked at me and I couldn't make it out. Not through it all. Then I was back on the bus. Then I was in a room. Another room. There were things I wanted to say. Things I wanted to do. I had to just look around at the calico bedspreads. At the pillows and beds around me. I didn't know what to say. I said nothing at all instead. He wasn't supposed to be there. He hid and there was a search. I didn't want him to leave, but I couldn't find another way for the feeling to remain other than to be silent. To just allow them to find him, if they could. I sat on the bed. Hoping.
I was startled. Why do I have so many dreams like that? Where I know I am not here. On earth. That reality isn't... I'm a ball of blue floating. A general shape of something. There is mostly just feelings. And I never feel safe. Not fully. I feel some aspects of it... But never fully.
There's more to the story. More to it than that. It's just a mindset. Something I can't figure out. I want to feel something. So instead, after all these years, I just allow it to be whatever it may be. I just... I'm grateful for the love I have. For the love I share and the love I have. I need more and I want more, but it doesn't matter. I get what I give and I get it back. It's lovely and wonderful and I appreciate it.
I still have an illusion that it will be more. That someone out there wants whatever I have to offer. That it isn't just about friendship. That it's about passion and love and the willingness to be vulnerable in such a strange place. A strange time. Someplace where I can just... fall into someone. Someone into me. And it doesn't mean it's bad or good or perfect all the time- it is what it is. But it works. And it's what I deserve. Do I really deserve to be alone? Is that all I have learned? Is that the lesson I get from all this? That I cannot physically handle what it is to be in that position. To love. To receive. To give.
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