Pale Dreaming

Last night in my dream, I was in a home that wasn't mine, nor ever was. The walls were whitewashed, somewhere between 'shabby-chic' and 'institutional', and you visited me. Not just in a metaphorical sense, you came to this house to see me as a visit, you towed with you a red suitcase filled with medical books. You read these books filled with flesh-colored charts of my insides, and told me I was 'incomplete', if only you knew how right you were. You informed me my liver was leaking fluid that made up one of the great lakes, and my kidneys were full of salt - the salt that God grinded up himself and sprinkled across the unforgiving terrain.
"Fuck you!" You yelled, after I asked why. I asked why everything spins out of control, and I am the epicenter. "Fuck you! It's because you put yourself there!" You yelled, your mouth folding into a smirk, and looking at me like a wild animal looks at strange people that inch closer to it. An ignorant mixture of fear and temptation, almost egging me on to fight you. But instead you closed your medical book, and went over to the window in front of you, where the streets outside swooped and slithered through some landscape that resembled part city, and part ocean.
At that moment, a girl with brown hair and a crimson ribbon dangled from her crown and covered her left eye, appeared at your side. You told her to pick you up in a day or so, and she and you exchanged a private joke I didn't understand, and she left.
"Yes, I'm sleeping with her." You responded with a proud smile, when I asked if you were dating her. And then a piece of me broke all over a again. There was a landslide inside of my chest, and it pinched hard when I tried to inhale. All over again I wanted you. All over again, like some dark, intense sunrise, I missed you. Instead of pleading with you to leave her and to love me again, I just watched as you read another book. Since I've been losing weight, we are the same sizes now. You're lean frame matches me now, and I watched your temples pulse as you concentrate on the words in the book. I outlined your strong nose with my eyes, as I felt my eyes tear up. Your hands were long and pale, and rested lightly on the edges of the novel. I remember when you nervously put them on me the first time, and I remember that night with the painted walls and the smell of clean clothes and whatever the name of that cheap teenage cologne you wore.
I woke myself up. I was back in my room now, it was still dark, and I listened to my dogs snore. I hate it when your picture appears out of nowhere. It is hard to do my best in forgetting you, and letting you live a life you deserve and find the sweetest love I was too selfish to give you. It is hard to do that when you keep appearing online and bringing it all back.
What things could have been so different if we had met after we had finished growing up. What amazing things we could have had together if we had met and fallen in love after realizing who we really were.
I really did love you as deep as you did me. I just didn't know what to do with that and the co-existing darkness that ate everything, that was also inside of me.
From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, it's full of energy. Energy that leaps out in ions and electrons, searching for something to stick to. Great storm catchers, that leap from buildings and cliffs, into electricity. Perhaps being a daredevil, or most likely, looking for a place to scream. I'm not lonely, but at times I get so angry I cannot see straight. Who are these people that call me their friends? Who are they, since they don't even know me? I remember when you knew me, breathing into the small of my neck, illuminating something on tv screens. Something that bore my name and smelling of a place where leaves fall - crisp, and telling of things to be reborn a few weeks later. With assurance.