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Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Dreaming my Dreams in the Arms of Sleep…

I don’t care if anyone would bother to read this. I foresee this to be a long post. Maybe I need to see a psychologist, or better yet a psychiatrist.

Lately, I’ve been having dreams of my x-boyfriend. I will not call him lover, for we didn’t go that far. It’s been going on for four consecutive nights, to be exact. And a couple of times last week. And once or twice the week before that. Today, I thought of calling him, maybe say hi or ask what he’s into at the mo. But, I guess he changed his number. A recorded message says the number is not in service. Well, I changed mine too anyway.

When I woke up this morning, I tried to remember all that happened in my dream. I went to this party which he organized. Apparently, it was in his house. But it was bigger than the real one. Funny, oh it wasn’t funny; it was like I was invisible. I do not know if he and everybody else were ignoring me or I was really not there. The feeling was strong, though. I was irritated. How could I arrive with him there and yet he left me sitting down, on a chair in a corner of the room. Although, there were people sitting beside me. The house was full, loud music, drinking, dancing, talking, laughing. But the noise seemed to float past my ears. I can’t hear the music, but I feel the beat. I can’t hear what the people were saying but I see their lips moving, their faces laughing. I see a lot of people, but I don’t see their faces. Then I saw him across the room, sitting lousy on a couch, a glass of wine in his hand, and talking to a crowd. They were all facing him, laughing. It was so like him, I thought. I tried to make him notice me walking towards him, but I was ashamed to interfere. So I went back to my chair. Then I started fixing my coat that I left on the chair, indicating that I am about to leave. Suddenly, two older girls, somewhere in their forties, approached me and kissed me on the cheeks. Giving a gesture that they were about to leave. I thought of hitching a ride with them, but I was having second thoughts on leaving without saying goodbye. Then suddenly, as I turned around, the room was empty. But the traces of the party remained. I looked at the couch where he was sitting and he was still there, looking at me. I need not walk that far, just two steps and wham! I was standing in front of him; he was standing in front of me. I looked in his eyes; a tear ran down his face. He looked down, he held my right hand, his hands were cold. I thought, he was just “pasmado.” But it was icy cold. Then I felt the expression on my face shifted from confused to wretched. Then I woke up. My heart was pounding fast. I wanted to stand up but I was so weak. I grabbed my pillow, buried my face, and then cried. I felt my heart beat twice as fast as normal. And every beat were stinging, like a healed wound callously breaking up and opening again. I cried continuously. And I don’t know why.

Five years ago, I dumped him for another guy. And yes, a year of stupidity came ahead of me. We only went out for a month, but I felt a deeper connection with him compared to the second guy who I spent a whole year with. I thought it was just juvenile love. But I guess it still affects me in a different way today. And for the past relationships I had before and after him, he was the only one that I don’t want to forget. (Eeew.. mushy…)

Erm, do I need to tell the whole story?

Today I dug up previous issues of the fanzines I used to lend him, and ‘zines we used to write. And came up with some realizations that I never thought before.

We did organize a bunch of people to write down their thoughts. Maybe some of them are actual writers now. We created a new language that only a selected crowd knew how to decipher. And helped the most timid boost out their creativity. Yeah, we snatched articles from other ‘zines, but promoted ours in turn. We even made people hate each other and bring others closer. And yeah, we made the after-school more interesting. And this I need to note, he was the one who said our relationship was boring. So I drifted away from him.

Ironic as though it seems, that somewhere between and after the relationship with the second guy, we became close again, but this time in a new level. It was Platonic love. Somebody asked me why I consider Plato the greatest thinker, I have a thousand reasons why. And as cocky as it sounds, we were best friends. Well, at least he calls me his best friend. I knew he was giving signs but I withdrew myself from the thought of stepping forward again, and I made sure he knew that. Well, I think I did. Because when I went out with another guy, he openly expressed his anguish. We gradually stopped talking to each other. But everytime I need a favor and have a big problem, there was nobody else I ran to but him. Even when the time the new guy and I separated, I ran to him, all teary eyes and he opened his arms to me. When I’m all wrapped up in sorrow, he was always there, everytime. No questions asked. And when I finally said it was over between me and the new guy, I said I’d be his friend forever. But the next day, I went back to the new guy. We eventually lost contact since then. I called him once, but he hung up on me.

I unearthed a ‘zine, and I found the last entry I gave. It was bits and pieces of an album by an artist we both liked, and sprinkled in some of my thoughts. But I guess he took it the wrong way, or maybe I wrote it the wrong way:

CARRION

I was building memories on things we have not said.
You never heard; you never tried to listen,
To the messages I gave.
You’ll never live this life that I live
I’ll never again live the life
That makes me wake up at night.
And wakes me with regrets.
You still don’t know who I am.

You said love is monotonous, you cannot bear.
Well then I say,
Gimme mine back and go…
For all I care!

Don’t make this a big deal,
Don’t be so sensitive.
You don’t have to be so defensive.
We’re not playing YOUR game anymore.



I felt that I never did make him feel important as much as I felt he was. Now, I’m trying to express to the people I care for that I do care, but somehow, I just can’t.

I dug up some more, and there it was, the last issue. His last declaration of love and hate for me, found within the pages, and it was obvious. And I thought, what a cruel world I must have given him. And now it’s all coming back at me tenfold.


----
note: So, now you know me, would it change a thing? (referring this to…. Well, you know who you are)

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