Dedicated to Light.

Okay, so I don’t even know where to start. But basically I’ve been getting these dreams. Awful dreams. Won’t exactly fit into my category of nightmares, but close enough. So apparently I’ve been a big life-saver in these dreams, baby lambs, kittens, whatever. I cuddle them in my arms, scream for their rights to live, save ‘em from dangerous waters, pouring rain…stuff like that. But each morning I wake up with tears all over my face. And note the irony there—I haven’t been crying for a while, not after that night, to be exact.

Fact is, I know there’s like an Atlantic full of tears welling up in my chest, but my eyes just couldn’t figure out the way to get’em out. It drives me nuts to be honest, I mean don’t they always say that you gotta get the sorrow or the rage out before you could achieve the state of peaceful mind? I mean how am I supposed to find that fucking peace of mind if I’m all feeling numb and shit about this whole stuff?

Or maybe “numb” wouldn’t be the perfect word for it. I do feel pain, like severe pain, to be fair. It’s like getting hit by a bolt of lightening—not in a good way of course. I get out of breath when that happens, and each time when I hold myself together again, no other moment defines the word “alive” better than that. It fucking hurts like hell man. I’m telling you, it hurts.

But by “numb”, I meant, you know how sometimes you wake up in the morning, and the sky is so covered up that you don’t feel you’ve actually got out of bed the whole day? Imagine that only ten times worse. You’re moving along with life alright, but you just don’t feel it. You don’t taste anything, don’t smell anything, don’t see anything even. All you want to do is jumping right back to bed and play dead.


And you know how they always say “time heals”? Yeah I do that too. When I’m not in it, that is. But no it really doesn’t. You could pretend that you’ve forgotten about it, don’t care about it no more, totally over it. Say that all you want. But the scars remain. Time doesn’t heal, nothing does. We’re all just saying that so that there’s something to look forward to. Something better, brighter, that glass half-full shit to keep us from drowning ourselves. But who are we fooling? I’m not buying that anymore.


But drowning myself is not on my agenda for today, in case you’re wondering. You know I’m no softy. (Although I’d kill to be a softy, just for once.) Just hurt is all what I’m saying. And just so you could sleep better tonight: it doesn’t really have much to do with you. I’m a total wreck right now not because you destroyed my Noah’s Ark, but because I am finally sober enough to see that there ain’t NO Noah’s Ark in existence. Pathetic truth, yet truth it is.


But anyways. Sorry about all the whining, I was just going to tell you one thing when I started this thing. So I was watching Garden Sate, and awkwardly, I recalled this moment we had out of no where. We’ve been cuddling for a while, and have become really sleepy after the long talks and flirting. The plane seats were small as usual, and you tried to make me feel more comfortable by pulling up the armrest in between us. I put a pillow on your upper arm, leaned into it, and you asked “you comfy?” “yeah,” I replied half-awake.


“I feel safe.” I heard myself saying out of the blue, eyes now closed.

You chuckled. “Yeah, I feel safe too.” You said very softly and started playing with my hair. “I’m with a girl in army pants, you know.”

We laughed a little, and I heard myself mumbling softly again. “yeah. safe. we’re safe now.”




“Safe.”



That’s all, Ophelia. That’s all.






Los Angeles/ Feb 23 3:45am