noviembre 27, 2013


Filed under: Uncategorized — mellamanvic @ 4:16 pm

What if you slept
And what if
In your sleep
You dreamed
And what if
In your dream
You went to heaven
And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower
And what if
When you awoke
You had that flower in you hand
Ah, what then?



Some nights it’s not so bad. Some nights I only dream of her once.

Alas, these are not dreams like the ones I used to have when we had just broken up. Back then I would dream we were still together. I’d go crawling up her arm or leg the way I used to do, pretending I was a chameleon and doing weird things with my mouth. We would make love. Or we just happened to be sitting in the couch, watching our new favorite TV shows. I still hated having those dreams. The dreams were themselves kind of sweet, but when I woke up and realized I had lost my chances to ever be with her again I had a few seconds of deep sorrow. The moment passed, sure enough. I just traveled from the dream into a reality I had already made peace with. It just took a few seconds of hurt. It wasn’t that bad.

Nowadays the dreams are much, much worse. Sometimes I dream we work together. Sometimes she’s dating a friend. Sometimes she’s my neighbor. The thing is, I get to see her on a regular basis. And it’s not something I enjoy much. It hurts. It hurts to look at her, but  the way she looks at me hurts much more. I can see that she pities me, not because she was the one that got to dump me -she doesn’t hold any regrets about that,  mind you-, but because I disappoint her. She sees what I have done with my life. The way I’ve treated women, my stupid decision to start smoking, the fact that I’m suspecting I may be becoming an alcoholic and other things I won’t dare to mention are judged in the way she looks at me. And she’s right; I’ve turned myself into a waste of space. Most days I’m just too scared to leave my house in case I run into someone that could ask me what I have been doing with my life lately. I’m tired of not being able to face the answer to that question. And all that is in the way she looks at me. Funny brain of mine can get to make her look at me in my dreams in a way she never looked at me in real life…

I remember reading you can’t do some things in your dreams. I read that, for instance, you can’t smell.  Funny brain of mine, I can smell her hair and her skin pretty well enough. And it hurts.

They also say that you can’t die in your sleep. And I guess you really can’t. But, funny brain of mine, I can certainly try. I can jump off a bridge, I can pull a trigger, and I can put my head against a train rail and feel how it rumbles. The second I hit the water, pull the trigger or when the train arrives to ‘next station my head’ I wake up. But I wake up, so to speak, with Coleridge’s flower in my hand. The determination to end it all stays with me for quite a while, and I always think about the luck not to live in a high building. Good luck or bad luck, it’s a tough call to make at that point.

Some nights it’s not so bad. Some nights I only dream of her once.


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