I had a dream about him again... one so real that upon waking reality slapped me in the face like a cold bucket of water. Reality is completely different:
He took my heart and coaxed it out of it's shell. Convinced me and it that he was gentle and treasured it. Perhaps he actually did at some point...perhaps not. Either way, after awhile he left it somewhere carelessly. It lingered in a lost and found box among the sweatshirts and solo gloves lost by others. When he became distant, I went searching for it, knowing somewhere in my subconscious tragedy was coming. When I found it, I brought it back to him. Since I had given it to him, it was now his property even if he had neglected it. Maybe he was just busy and it was a one time thing...maybe he was stressed out and couldn't care for my heart momentarily...I had convinced myself for sure that he would eventually take it back and treasure it again though. Then one the last day of us, I found out that he wasn't "mine". It was then he decided to forego his responsibility all together, slamming my heart into the floor like a football player during a touch down. He couldn't abandon my heart and I fast enough. My already fragmented heart shattered. The pieces so small it was if he had taken a pestle and mortar to them. The pain and agony were so deep and intense that reality ceased to exist for some time. My life fell apart and followed suit. In the silence that ensued a faint cry still drifted from the heart pieces. Longing. Loneliness. Jealousy. Love. All for their destructor. Are you kidding me? And this is where the dreams stem from. No matter how much I know about not wanting him back, my heart can't forget how to love him. Every dream is a self-serving fantasy of the heart. And they are slowly breaking down my mind.
