Orion Wolf
I trade personalities like costumes. Who am I today?
Am I the girl from high school who some useless boy loved for her innocence? Who smiles and finds the good in everything and quells his fears without having any problems of her own? No that isn’t it. That isn’t me. But it could be.
Do I fall in love too easily?
Do I bury my feelings too deep?
The thing about burying something that isn’t dead, is it will always come back.
You were in my dream last night. You traded your height and became a garden gnome. You looked at me like you saw me, every facet of me. You smiled and the costumes fell away, and it felt like the very first time.
I didn’t know who I was, it didn’t matter. I was me, and beneath the fake beard and the silly hat, you were you.
I think my dreams sell you short. I think I’m trying to get over you even in my mind. I want to forget you, forget myself, forget it all.
In my mind, you look like you except you’re someone else. You’re someone I don’t rethink every interaction with.
Like If I didn’t care more than I should.
If I didn’t think of you every time that stupid song comes on.
If I didn’t think of how the color of your eyes is never the same, but always feels the same every time I’m left alone with my thoughts or some kind of alcohol touches my lips.
Dreams are the worst form of torture. They show me what I want to see and parts of a convoluted truth. They make me want to believe something. They show me a life and a smile and I wake up in a pool of my own sweat with vomit welling in my throat.
You’re somewhere else, probably loving someone else, being someone I can’t fully understand.
There’s no act I could put on to fool you, but I still try. I still make a fool of myself, and you always look at me the same afterwards and smile.
Why do you look at me the same?