Here we are again, meeting in my nightmares.
I’m back in your passenger seat, but now I am trying to read the look in your brown eyes. There is a single tear streaming down your cheek, the others too prideful to fall. Your face usually stoic is scrunched in frustration, staring deeply into mine.
We must be must be mid argument. That’s the interesting part about my nightmares. Not much if anything is ever said but instead, it’s felt. And I felt your anger.
You say something meant to hurt me. I just pause. How can I be shocked that in the dream world, you are still so cold? Performing nonchalance even through frustrated tears, because behind it is hurt.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask after some silence. Rivers begin forming in your waterline.
“I just need space to think. I’m going to drive around and come back.” You avoid looking at me, turning your face away to hold back a sob.
You never did come back. Instead, I found myself in limbo wondering why you were fighting vulnerability. Ojitos telling me what your mouth could never communicate so honestly.
Your tears and anger said you care. Even your urge to run said that too.
What does it mean?
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