Figment

Dreaming was supposed to be a hobby and now it was obligatory. You did this to me. I had thoughts once that were of plunging valleys and rolling green hills and places that didn't even exist that were waiting for me to discover them and tell them how beautiful they really are. But you killed those thoughts. You were supposed to be purple.

Now I have dreams of car accidents on sidewinding rural dirt roads in the middle of the night. It's never me in the car. It's me finding the driver writhing in pain and telling them all kinds of reasons of why it will be okay. And all the while I can't get a signal on my phone. The funny thing is, every time I sleep now, I have this dream. And I can never see the driver's face. It's only a blur.

Somewhere along the way you deadened me. That's for sure. About the only thing I'll take credit for is the fact that I let you do it. But I counted on you to enable me, to make me the architect, and you let me down.

You were supposed to inspire me with sparkles and intoxicating fogginess of a world that had yet to exist. You were supposed to hold my hand and tell me I wasn't a pushover. And instead you got right in there--deep in the synapses and crevices of my warping mind. And you stayed, just long enough to remind me that I was dispensable and color blind...apparently.