(no subject)
I had a dream about you last night. You came up to me while I was browsing books in the library and stood there, watching me silently, until I noticed you. It felt like a second, but that was dream time. You looked wishful, like you'd been waiting a while for me to notice. Then I looked at you. And the stacks behind you were blurred, and everything--including you--was fuzzy and distant. But everything was crystal clear and lucid too. You told me you wanted me to forgive you. I puzzled, got confused, and eventually turned and looked at the books in front of me again with a watery, metallic, and hollow feeling in my throat before I turned around and left you in the library. You were devastated. You looked the way you used to, not how you do now, and I walked away. You're just a shell of what you used to be. And it still hurts.