I once wrote, “You only like beginnings, puzzles, and broken things.”
Last night I dreamt you were catching my tears in a vial and holding me. It went on like that for a long time.
Finally, I stopped crying. I smiled at you. You smiled back. Later I would wish I could have frozen myself in that moment.
Then your eyes welled up, so I offered out my arms to hold you in return when you wept.
You abruptly spun me around and shoved me away. I stumbled off, confused.
Didn’t you also want to let go of your pain? Couldn’t you love me anymore now that I was strong?
(Reality overlapped with dream momentarily as I also wondered what you meant by “find someone more like you”.)
My heart made me turn around so I could tell you I would not let you shut me out and yourself down.
Instead, I witnessed you grasping another. She, too, cried into a bottle; I don’t know if you emptied the very one you’d given me for so long or if you simply had another or even a collection.
Before I could investigate whether you had a stockpile nearby, sharp recognition ejected me from the dream altogether.
I awoke remembering the girl you asked to bring along to your company party. How strange, I hadn’t worried about that request at the time, nor a dozen other now-obvious occasions.
You did tell me that she faced enormous hardships in life (many tears to shed). If my dream was revelation and not subconscious fabrication, I wish you both well with the last breath of my former life.
A final note you’ll probably never read: you often said “iFix” and “iFind”. But one day, I hope you do allow someone to catch your own tears.