Looking For Something I've Never Seen

Last week I had the strangest dream, where everything was exactly how it seemed.

Ben Gibbard always touched my heart and soul with the lyrics he composed. Yet those lyrics don’t speak to me. No, those lyrics shout at me. To most people, dreams are nothing but mere entertainment and things to ponder over. In fact that’s what most are to me, but not this dream I had. Don’t wake me I plan on sleeping in. I have those days. A day where there’s a dream stuck before my eyes that I don’t wish to vanish. And I think, “Don’t leave my wonderful dream. Stay so I may bathe in your sweet illusions and forget the troubles of reality.” Whether it be so enjoyably frightening or incredibly intriguing, don’t let it leave.

Again last night I had that strange dream. It is a recurring dream. Yet it is also a memory. A living memory.

In this dream I was at a funeral. Instantly I felt lonely and lost, like I was roaming the earth with no loyal canine by my side. There were many people in black and crying. I wondered who was dead. White roses decorated the cherry oak casket and the elaborate cathedral embellished with intricate drawings and carvings echoed with not only the sounds of sadness, but also the sound of music.

As I looked around the pews, I recognized many faces. They were my friends, my family; my stronghold. People I was close to along with people I didn’t know were present. I was surprised, and my curiosity of who was dead grew. Why were all these people here?

Slowly and cautiously I walked up the aisle in silence as the mourners kept their heads bowed and cheeks wet. Ever so slowly… Until I reached the open casket. And as I peered into the casket and looked at the corpse, my heart jumped in my chest. I was frightened, confused, depressed, curious and devastated.

It was female. A brunette female with pale skin and a young body. Rope marks encircled her neck; I assumed it was a suicide. I began to feel queasy and achy. All of the emotions rumbling around in my heart and stomach did this to me, yet I didn’t want to wake up. Her face was expressionless; the sort of expressionless face only the dead can possess. Yet in her skin I felt the emotion. Sadness lived in her skin. She was the host; sadness the parasite. Even though the host was killed, the parasite lived on. This person in the casket… Why was she in there? Why had I killed myself? My body was in that casket. I felt desperation. The need for comfort was so strong, I cried out in a sudden burst of fear.

And in my dream, when I looked up, a young man – no, an angel stood before me with gentle eyes. I knew he had come for me, to protect me. Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone; my thirst for companionship quenched if only for a moment.

He was beautiful. The type of young beauty that the old and wise cannot touch. Atop his head, mud brown hair fell to his chin straightly.

The skin holding him together was almost as pale as the corpse. Skin is much like the telling of a story. His journey was mapped out across his body through many lines and folds. I wanted to be in his skin. I wanted to be a part of his journey and apart of his history. I wanted to be a good story he could tell his son when he was older. I wanted to be a fond memory. I wanted to be in his skin.

He was tall, yet not condescending as you might think. No, angels are understanding and comforting. That’s precisely what he was.

Those orbs… O! How those orbs mesmerized me. His eyes ensnared me in a comforting gaze; gaping. As azure as the sky, those eyes were. Turquoise and robin-egg and ocean blue. They comforted me. They coddled me from the pain I was feeling. He sheltered me. I was taken under his wing. I felt safe.

Usually these sorts of dreams wouldn’t startle me. It didn’t at first. It was just another odd dream that didn’t mean anything. I felt silly for thinking anything of it. But the next day, after I woke up…

I met him.

O! That day. How important that day had been, yet I did not know it at the time. Very curious, it is, how one mind does not notice the many faces that pass them by each day, until one asserts into another’s normal routine. Everything is sent askew, the normal orbit lost if only for a moment.

I was unaware that this boy would become so horribly important to my daily existence. How could he be so important? He was thousands of miles across the earth, over a vast blue ocean and treacherous land. It was as if I was America, and he Great Britain. He governed and controlled me from so far away, yet it was like he was right beside me. The ironic part is that he is from the United Kingdom, and I from Colorado.

But that day I had met an angel. He had rescued me from nightmarish dreams, and would continue to shelter me for many months to come. We connected in an instant; tethered to each other night and day. I remember he was clad in holiday attire, and took to calling me elf quickly. Santa never worked for his nickname, so I took a more biblical approach. Angel. Angels are defined as messengers from God. I believe to this day he sent me a message to not only endure life, but to enjoy the people in it.

I remember feeling some sort of satisfaction after the first day I met him. I remember feeling bliss. I remember feeling happy for once. I remember feeling calm and in a state of felicity.

But the high did not last long.

Quickly I needed him more often. Soon enough we talked every day for hours upon end. Somewhere along our endless archive of conversations I had fallen in love. And somewhere along that way I decided from where I loved him. I needed him; I still need him. I love him. I love him past my mind; beyond my heart. I love him into my soul.