The Tear Collector

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.

You often said “iFix” and “iFind”.  But one day, I hope you do allow someone to catch your own tears.


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