Sunday, April 3, 2011

When Someone Says It Better, Let Them Speak

Slowly waking up from an afternoon nap today, I made a startling discovery. My pillow was completely soaked. For a moment, I thought that I had drooled, that my nose had bled, that the cat had peed. Anything. Anything but what I thought to be truth.

But I knew in my heart, before I even looked in the bathroom mirror, they were tears upon my pillow, that I had wept so violently in my sleep that I awoke in a puddle of regret and fear. It's been several years since I found the sodden pillow, and I am not anxious to return to those visions. I returned to the couch in an attempt to lay still, inhale the calm, and re-trace my dream paths when I saw this post:

Its timing was freakish and eerie and comforting somehow. I guess that it's that I am not alone in the puddle. I must have read it 20 times between then and now. Surely, I'll read it another 20 times or more.

I wanted to write something today. I tried all day, but I couldn't find the right words. So I'm borrowing his because I don't know how to say it any differently.

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