Tuesday, March 1, 2011

I Want To Be Good At Life

I'm having that dream again. The one where my father breaks my heart. I have no emotion in the dream but when I wake up I feel the weight of the ache. My eyelids are thick like mattresses.

It isn't that late but the house is quiet like 3am and the windows are black from the night hitting them.

My heart has a periodic murmur, a moth in my throat, and when I hold my breath, its off-beat racks my body. My lips are chapped and I am molting. My skin is peeling. My muscles feel limp; there's no anger therefore no fight, just dread and defeat.
I know that I have to be tough now, I am just not sure where it will come from this time. Crumbling reinforcements.

Sometimes I think of myself as Amelia Bedelia, which is slight solace, but I shouldn't go around like I'm living in a children's book.

I have Dylan to do that for me. She is asleep behind me, inhaling and exhaling the faintest snores and every now and then I'll hear a mumble and a whimper. Sometimes I compare it to a sleeping dog, having dreams of chasing rabbits. It really can lift the worst weight off my shoulders.



I would be so helpless without her.