Rain

In my dream, I was dancing in the rain. Naked and shameless. I don’t know what that means, but something tells me it’s finally time to let go. I know I promised to wait until my birthday, but it’s getting harder every day. And there really is no point in hanging around anymore when I’m practically, absolutely sure that whatever it was that I felt existed between us was merely an illusion—one of the stories my mind desperately weaves when I’m feeling beautiful but lonely.

Now that I feel horrible—with my recent breakouts and this feelings of emptiness following me like a shadow—the story’s finally beginning to crumble, and I can see us for what we truly are: nothing. All those messages, those dates that aren’t even dates, those accidental touches, they’re now just part of the huge dagger that life thrusts into me further every waking day. They’re all just figments of happiness that are now long past. They are no longer real.

I can’t remember the last time I was happy. Sure, there are people who make me smile every day, but there is a special kind of happiness that only I myself can conjure. And I’m discovering that I can’t do that anymore. I’ve lost that magic, that innocence, that sight of something wonderful at the end of the day. I feel so lost, so empty, so away from myself. Is this what they call depression?

God knows how much I’ve been praying for something to make me alive again—music, poetry, a boy, anything. But I’m still slumped and useless, all my insecurities and self-reservations eating away with what’s left of my pride.

And maybe what I do need is the rain. A cleansing, some sort of renewal. Maybe I just need to get home desperately, to be in a place where there is sunshine and familiar faces and family. Maybe I just need to get away, for a while. To forget. To heal.