In my dreams I'm dying.
I can't move. I'm too weak. And Death is ever my companion. Walking through streets of broken glass and shattered dreams.
And he is crying. As though he didn't want this, as though he expected more from me. I think Death wants to be with me, but only in my dreams. Because he must be lonely. Who loves Death? Death walks alone always, except in my dreams.
And sometimes he walks on and away. Sometimes he leaves me behind and sometimes I'm the one crying. Sometimes I feel pity for Death. I know I've failed him and it scares me. I'm not afraid of Death. I'm afraid he'll go on hurting, and I know he will. I want it all to stop. I want the fear to leave them.
In my dreams I can feel his pain. I can feel him as he takes the lives of my friends and cradles them in his arms. His spindly arms that I'm afraid aren't strong enough to hold them. So I find the strength to stand and I walk with him and I help him hold their strength. Together we find the strength we need.
And I know what he needs, in the secret corners of my mind. What Death needs is Life. I believe in a place somewhere, where Life walks through streets as Death walks here. And these two places, they really ought to be the same.
I believe that place would be beautiful. It would be a rose garden. A waterfall. A child's eyes. It will be someday.
But when I wake up it's all just a dream. These dreams of beauty and Death. The hopes I have for him; they're all just a dream, a useless wasteful dream. I know I shouldn't hold on to dreams the way I do. My mind should be clear. But I don't want it to be empty. I want to remember these dreams and the beauty I find in them.
I stand on my dreams, and I know I'll live through the day until I can return to my cocoon. I can make it back to the night, to my dreams.
I always die in my dreams.