I watched an invisible monster twist and contort your body this morning- some form of torture for a crime I’ve no doubt you committed. I thought maybe I should wake you up, but I was afraid the monster moving your bones around could use them to rearrange my own skeleton, so I left you to your punishment. When you finally woke up, the monster disguised itself as tears to escape your body. I was terrified.
“I dreamt you started smoking,” you said.
I could imagine smoke nooses dangling from my fingers…but I couldn’t imagine why your black heart would care about my black lungs.
“You started smoking; you blew smoke in my face when I told you to stop. You said you didn’t want me anymore, you didn’t care about anything. None of it, the beauty you’re always seeing, trying to share. You walked away, and I couldn’t follow you. The path you took consisted of smoke, and it blew away behind you. There wasn’t ground anymore,” you continued.
I just stared at you. I wanted to tell you about the crescent moons blooming grey beneath your bottom eyelashes; how your dreams kept falling out and getting stuck in them because you didn’t sleep enough. I wanted to tell you that while you weren’t sleeping I was having dreams about frantically trying to lock doors you were waiting behind with cougars. “He’s friendly, I promise! Please open the door, darling; I want you to meet him, you’d get along so well!” you’d shout while the mountain cat splintered the barrier between us.
But I didn’t. I just made coffee so we’d never have to sleep again.