February 8 I've woken from a dream. I found myself to be lying on grass, stomach up. The moon was not visible, a silhouette of a shadow, stars smeared across the night sky (how many wishes could I wish?). I only recall the heaving and vacant feeling in my gut, but no tears.
I screamed at the sky, hardly taking time to breathe. My chest was so.. heavy. It did not feel like my own. It was as if the gods had done something terrible to me. Cursed me, turned my lungs to stone, my heart to ashes. Oh, must you feel, you pathetic boy?
I cried out. A loving thumb caressed my cheek, "Our lives without one another have been but a dream. Don't cry... don't cry." This voice is gone now, but for an eternity in my waking her sound was memorable. So lifelike, striking, rich. Warm honey pooling in the center of my tongue.
And now in its absence I feel nothing but a world closing in on me. And even in its closing, distance remains to grow. Tectonic plates shifting beneath cities, seas rising and deepening. Tartarus making hell inside my weary body. Again, love for one that's never taken breath.
And hate for a world that has. 1:07 AM