Moments from a dream

I had a dream that shook me and I wanted to remember it. Sometimes simple meaningless things can create wonder. I am hoping to create with this soon but wanted to get the feeling of it down before I lost it.

Your eyes were flat and the color had drained out of them. They had faded from brown to almost blue depending on which way you turned your head. Like carved stone instead of eyes. All the soul that had pigmented them before had left. Your spirit had dampened and you no longer had that miscevious look about you. It was as if all the muscles in you face had atrophied. Almost as if it took too much energy to crack a joke or a smile. Tiredness seeped from your pores. You were drunk. Pissing drunk. And you insisted it was the alcohol that drained your eyes. You insisted the light would return upon waking, upon sobering up. And in the end that might have been the case, sometime long before this moment. Now all I could do was hug your frail body and give you my best "It will be OK," smile.

"Good to see you. I hope you're happy." I whisper these words into your hair as I pull away.

And I wept in another room. I wept for all the things you used to dream about. I wept for all the things we should have done. I wept for all I did to get you to this place. I wept until the color from my eyes rolled down my face and decorated the floor beneath me.

The End

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