Klonopin Dreams

Thursday, January 22nd, 2015

Dear H,

Last night I dreamt we were in my childhood bedroom, you had appeared uninvited and unannounced, where everything looked as it did in middle school, and I hid you from my parents as I did my middle school boyfriend. Of course, introducing my parents to one of the people who so drastically influenced my leaving Colorado College was not within my drugged dream agenda. Your hair frilled into the air, a full fledge 'fro, and the beer belly you styled a year ago had grown only slightly. You touched me tentatively, knuckles grazing against my arm. 

You were so angry, I so lonely, and both of us so lost. But in the dream you had "found your way" at least for a moment; you were sober with a chart to prove yourself. You begged me to get sober too, and asked me to drive back to Colorado so you could save me; I laughed like a wheezing cat. Sobriety has never been my issue, and from where I stand now I see that I was the only person who could have belayed myself along the face of the cliff from which I dangled. 

Admittedly, at the end of the dream, I nearly kissed you; what can I say? I'm a sucker for being wanted. But I didn't go back to Colorado, and perhaps won't for a long time; I imagine I would suddenly become a corpse, scarred wounds tracing my limbs, stitches not yet dissolved. 

H, I very much dislike you, but I still wonder how you are and if your eyes are as sweet as they were when we slept back to back in your twinXL bed.